


The Girl From the Tavern

by apollaskywalker



Series: Benjamin and Mary Tallmadge [1]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Eventual Sex, F/M, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 52,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollaskywalker/pseuds/apollaskywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Floyd, on her way to Philadelphia to see her father, delivers an intelligence report to Major Tallmadge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Turn. And while this story is based upon real life people, they are used fictitiously.

_From the diary of Mary Floyd_

Dear diary,

Today was…most unusual and exciting! I should preface this story by explaining that I did not imagine it would happen. We are on our way to visit father at Congress. Unfortunately it is in Philadelphia and Mother constantly frets about money and I know our finances are tight. This does not appear to have had any impact upon Kitty, who earlier today kept discussing how much she would love this new bonnet she had seen in a store.

To be truthful, that is why I went into the barn in the first place. I did not go looking for this excitement. And, truthfully again, I must be either vague or purposefully deceitful in case this journal is discovered. But oh, I _must_ tell _someone_!

Inside the barn, I brushed Midnight and overheard two stable hands having a whispered argument. They kept glancing at me and upon feeling the heat of their gaze; I was, of course, drawn into eavesdropping. Kitty is better at this than I, but I will admit to having some talents in this arena. I heard them discuss how dangerous it would be for them – especially in light of 14.44.46.48.8.52.18.15[1]. Of course, in light of father’s politics, I have a great sympathy for our dear men in buff and blue. Mother says I ought not to care for skinners in the same fashion, but are they not doing their part for the cause? Either way, my interest piqued and I approached them with an offer of assistance.

Once I convinced them of my loyalty to the cause – mentioning father’s name, his role as a signer of the Declaration of Independence and position in Congress – they begrudgingly agreed to let me take care of their problem. They directed me to a tavern, instructed me to sell eggs to the tavern’s proprietor, and meet up with a dragoon major. I would know him, they said, by the silver epaulets on his shoulders. And they gave me a code word! They said it likely would be unnecessary to worry, but that I should act as a simple woman selling wares. _He_ would approach _me_. If any redcoats gave me any trouble, I merely had to act as an unknowing woman trying to make any money I could. And that I should only accept British pounds. If he didn’t have any money, I should ask for something to trade.

So that is why I went to the tavern with a basket of eggs. The soldiers were already there when I arrived and I looked at them before I went over to the proprietor. I tried to look merely curious and as if appraising who else might buy eggs, but God knows how difficult it is to pretend when your stomach is full of flutters and you are concerned it might empty. The proprietor offered to buy them all and I praise the Almighty that I managed to think of a good reason not to sell all. After I collected the money, I confess I had no idea what to do. Should I linger? Had he seen me? But I could not linger, after all, I had eggs to sell. So I left.

Not long after I stepped out of the tavern did the major follow me.

Oh, I confess – I have never seen a more beautiful man! Tall, his dark blond or light brown (it looked different in various lighting) pulled back, dressed in a clean uniform of tan trousers, a blue coat with silver epaulets, wearing muddy boots, a saber on his hip – and if I had never believed in heaven or God before, I certainly found the Gospel in his blue eyes.

“Miss, spare a few eggs for some patriots?” he asked and if I found God in his eyes, I found the devil in his voice. If Lucifer, as Milton wrote, was the most beautiful of God’s angels, then this continental major took the devil’s voice.

Goodness, that makes no sense now that I see it before me! What I mean is that his voice was utterly captivating!

He smiled at me and then said the code words, to which I stumbled over my response. His smile gentled and he removed some specie to pay for the eggs. While he counted out the amount I named, he complimented me on my bravery and assured me I was doing a beautiful job.

I said nothing. What could I say? I also feared to make a fool of myself. Though, sadly, I did make a fool of myself as I forgot where I’d placed the paper containing the intelligence report! I first checked my pocket, then the basket, and finally remembered I had placed it in my stocking. While I retrieved it, he scanned our surroundings to keep us safe. I had just produced it when he spotted 14.44.46.48.8.52.18.15.

 

He accepted the report and hurried in to gather his troops, who hurried to their horses. From his saddle bag, he retrieved a spyglass and studied the approaching forces.

One of his men asked if they should attack, but he shook his head. “No, there are too many of them. Dragoons, mount!” He tucked away his spyglass and mounted his steed. “I thank you for your assistance, miss, it’s best –“

“Take me with you,” I asked thoughtlessly. “If you take me up the road a bit, I will be closer to home –“

He held out his hand to me. I took it and mounted behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist as he donned his helmet. “Are you secure?” he asked me. When I confirmed that I was, he gave the order to his troops to ride.

I had to press my face against his back or lean far away to avoid the horse hair plume of his helmet that slapped me as we rode. We slowed down once we reached the cover of trees and I could sit normally. Or as normally as possible, given that once we were out of immediate danger, I became very conscious of where my hands were, of how tightly I held him or not – he made no complaint. However, once we stopped and the dragoons dismounted, it became apparent to me that I had damaged him. He placed a hand against his side and had a very discernible limp. He took out his spyglass and observed our surroundings before going over to consult with a few other men. I hovered behind, needing directions back to town.

They discussed their best course of action and the major decided that they would head to camp – no, I don’t know where that is – and he would return me as close to town as possible. He gave the intelligence to his second-in-command and instructions to destroy it if they were overtaken.

They left and we discussed where I actually needed to go. True, I had to get to town, but the house we are currently in residence is slightly out of town. Before I would let him take me back, I insisted to know why he had developed that limp. He dismissed it, saying it was nothing, a healing injury. I asked how long ago he had received it and he admitted only a few days prior. When I pressed further, he confessed it was a bullet wound and I demanded to see it. I quite insisted upon it, making him sit down, remove his coat, waistcoat, and lifting his shirt.

The bandage was completely soaked through with blood and fresh blood leaked around the edges. If not for his many layers, his wound would have been obvious to all. I inventoried the fabric we had between the two of us. He graciously let me go through his saddlebags to do this. I took out a canteen and a flask from it, then a knife. It was a beautiful knife of whalebone, decorated with whales and ships, and his initials were carved into it as well. I used it to cut a portion of my petticoat. Opening the canteen revealed nothing, so I opened the flask and smelled rum. I wanted to at least see what I was working with – this was before I cut my petticoat, I should say. I let him drink some of it before I poured it over the wound. He hissed and cursed quietly before apologizing. I ignored it and bandaged it after checking for infection. I have a vague idea of what to look for and it looked acceptable, but even so, I told him to see a real doctor and hope now that he will take my advice.

On the way back, I rode in front, his arms on either side of me. I insisted because I believe my grip on him caused his wound to open. He left me not too far from the edge of the woods and handed me his whalebone knife. “In case you run into trouble,” he insisted when I argued against it.

I took it out before writing this entry, I had stashed it in my under clothes and now know not what to do with it. What if Nicoll sees it? He would surely steal it or tell mama. The initials too would prove troublesome – we know no one with those initials. Or at the very least, I cannot think of one at the moment! Kitty would surely be awed, jealous, and DEFINITELY tell mama! I cannot let it be discovered, I shall have to sleep with it and carry it at all times on this journey!

 

[1] redcoats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a cipher prepared for Mary, she will be using it throughout the story. It is as follows: A=52, B=50, C=48, D=46, E=44, F=42, G=40, H=38, I=36, J=34, K=32, L=2, M=4, N=6, O=8, P=10, Q=12, R=14, S=16, T=18, U=20, V=22, W=24, X=26, Y=28, Z=30.
> 
> This chapter is inspired by the following passage, obviously I have not been entirely faithful to the account.  
> "I advanced several miles towards the British lines, and dismounted at a tavern called the Rising Sun, in full view of their outposts. Very soon I saw a young female coming out from the city, who also came to the same tavern. After we had made ourselves known to  
> each other, and while she was communicating some intelligence to me, I was informed that the British light horse were advancing.
> 
> Stepping to the door, I saw them at full speed chasing in my patrols, one of whom they took. I immediately mounted, when I found the young damsel close by my side, entreating that I would protect her. Having not a moment to reflect, I desired her to mount behind me, and in this way I brought her off more than three miles up to Germantown, where she dismounted. During the whole ride, although there was considerable firing of pistols, and not a little wheeling and charging, she remained unmoved, and never once complained of fear after she mounted my horse. I was delighted with this transaction, and received many compliments from those who became acquainted with it."  
> -Memoir of Colonel Benjamin Tallmadge, pgs 37-38


	2. Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben returns to camp. This takes place just prior to 3x05 "Hypocrisy, Fraud, and Tyranny".

Ben had planned to freshen up and then go brief Washington on the reports and the death of the reverend, but Caleb Brewster once again proved Mrs. Tallmadge right when she had declared that Caleb, “is a force of nature unto himself, when God created him, he gave him a hurricane instead of a soul.” Caleb swept into Ben’s tent and slapped him on the back, beaming widely. “Tallboy! You’re back at last! Cooper said you’d been gone for going on a week and a half –“

“I was only gone for a week at most,” Ben expertly undid his ascot and tossed it onto his cot. Unimposing and small compared to the luxury of Sarah’s real bed, Ben’s cot called to him in a way that nothing and no one else ever had. If not for Caleb and a meeting with the general, Ben would have happily succumbed to its allure and slept for a week at least. Instead, he was left to be like Odysseus, bound and unable to follow, but able to hear the song clearly.

“Well, it’s been a hell of a week!” Caleb retorted. “So…you get things straightened out with…”

“Yes, it’s done.” Ben removed his waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves before pouring water into a basin and washing up a bit. If only his stay at Sarah’s had been a bit longer and had allowed him a real bath!

If only she hadn’t turned out to be a Tory sympathizer…if only she had been more like that lass from the tavern.

The comparison was unfair, Ben splashed his face with the water and hoped to clear the thoughts.

“Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was that – well, actually, guess. Guess what I wanted to tell you.”

Ben turned his head slightly to frown at his friend. Caleb beamed, reminding Ben of birthdays, of Christmases, and parties. There was a youthfulness that Ben hadn’t seen in years. The war had tainted Caleb like it had tainted them all. The loss of his uncle had almost broken Caleb, but like the whales he once hunted, Caleb had shaken off the harpoon blow and returned to his usual chipper, flippant self. But there wasn’t the soldier temper in Caleb at the moment; he wasn’t talking to Ben as a second-in-command or of two co-conspirators in a deadly plot. Ben half expected a prostitute to burst into his tent and Caleb to announce that it was Ben’s birthday, even though that was far away. “Culper Jr sent word?”

“I would have led with that,” Caleb slapped Ben in annoyance, a gentle slap but it shook Ben’s weary frame in a way that made Caleb pause. “You all right, Tallboy?”

“I’m fine, Caleb. Tell me your news.” At his tone, Caleb narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Ben apologized quickly. “I’m just…sore from the ride.” A hurricane, Caleb might be, but when it came to injured friends, he was also a mama grizzly.

With a knowing smile, Caleb produced a flask and handed it over. Ben eagerly accepted and took a few gulps. Medicine in the camp was hard to come by and Ben wanted it to remain for truly wounded soldiers. “Annie’s here.”

Ben choked on the Madeira.

After a few sputters and a whack on the back courtesy of Caleb, Ben tried to find his voice. There was just one problem: he had too many questions and no good indicator of how to start. He ttripped over his questions, “When- why? Did she signal you? Is Abe here? When did she arrive – no, _when_ does she _leave_?” The bed sang its song louder and instead of continuing with his ablutions, Ben moved over to it and sat.

“She hung up a signal,” Caleb launched into the story of how he had collected Anna and smuggled her across the lines.

The world seemed to be fuzzy and Ben couldn’t figure out if that was the wine, the pain from his wound, his exhaustion, or his surprise at fault there. Could have been all of it, but he gasped in panic as Caleb and his tent disappeared into whiteness. He heard Caleb’s voice as if through a pond, a worried, “Ben?”

“Ben!” Caleb shook him and the world returned, or at least Caleb and something returned. Behind Caleb’s head was an expanse of off-white. Caleb’s eyes were wide and Ben could see the fear in them.

“What…what happened?”

“You went white as a redcoat wig and fainted! Sore from the ride, my arse!” Caleb sat down next to Ben and put his hand on Ben’s forehead. Ben pulled away, annoyed. There would be no end to Caleb’s questions if Ben didn’t stop them now. So he pulled up his shirt so Caleb could see the covered wound. Caleb’s eyes widened and he cursed. “Jesus! What happened?”

“There was a struggle –“

“The _reverend_ shot you!” Caleb sounded affronted, worried, and as if he'd just gained some admiration for the traitor all at once.

For a second it tempted Ben to let Caleb think so, but that would not do. So he refuted it and told an abridged version of the truth. He left out the details of Sarah and merely said she retrieved the bullet and patched him. He did not mention that it was Gamble who had shot him. Nor did he mention that Gamble had been well within his abilities to end Ben’s life long before he was shot, and he definitely did not mention that Gamble had tied him up, placed him on Gamble’s horse like a bedroll and planned to take him to Andre. Caleb took things personally – he had taken it very hard that when he had promised Abe to kill Simcoe he had let Ben talk him out of it and then Simcoe had hurt everyone of the ring. If Gamble proved to carry grudges in any degree of comparison to Simcoe, Caleb would make ending Gamble his mission. He would not listen to the fact that as chief of intelligence, Andre would want anyone to bring Ben to him alive. Ben was worth more to Andre alive than to the entire British army dead.

And if Ben were truthful to his friend and to himself, he didn’t want to risk Caleb any more than he absolutely had to. Of all his friends, Caleb mattered the most to him. He had been there for so much, had proved himself a true friend over and over.

Ben smiled and offered a story he could fully share without repercussion. “Another woman patched me up yesterday.”

Caleb smirked. “Oh I see. Tell the truth, you shot yourself to get closer to the ladies. Tell me, have you finally become a man?”

Ben’s face became impassive. Caleb didn’t miss the change, he put his arm around Ben’s shoulders and said, “I’m only teasing, I know you’re waiting for marriage. I meant no disrespect to the ladies you met either. Courageous young women! I drink to them!” Caleb held up his flask in toast and then took a drink before passing it to Ben. “Look, get some rest. I’ll give the General your report.”

Ben wanted to argue, he was the chief of intelligence, and _he_ ought to make the report. But he was too exhausted to argue, so he agreed.

Hours later, he woke and found a letter on his table that did not appear to have come through regular post. It had no envelope, was merely folded with his name written in the General’s beautiful script. Ben seized it, upsetting a few drafts and a stack of unopened correspondence neatly arranged by arrival dates. He opened it and found a warm note wishing him a speedy recovery and encouragement in using the General’s personal physician if need be.

He looked at the correspondence and knew he should read them immediately. Yet the knowledge that Anna Strong had come to camp pulled him away. He wanted to see his old friend for the first time since delivering the carved boat and secret stain, but his duties presented a compelling argument in favor of waiting just a bit longer. Then he remembered that Anna was one of his agents and as such he needed the story from her about her departure from Setauket.

Satisfied with that argument, he hurriedly dressed, attended to his hair, and departed his tent in search. In the scattering of tents, camp women moved about with laundry and other chores. Children chased after each other while their mothers called after them to take heed of the soldiers. Ben did not approve of the children’s presence in the camp, but he knew that Washington understood the necessity the women served – nurses, cooks, laundresses, boosting morale (and Caleb would throw in with a wink that they boosted other things) – and he could not force the women to separate themselves from the children. Besides, many children were born in and around camp.

Soldiers wandered through on various tasks and on their way to rest or eat. They nodded at him in greeting if they saw him and he returned their gestures. When a woman passed by him that he recognized, he called out to her. “Mrs. Milford! Might I have a word?”

The woman turned around and he could read the exhaustion in her face. Sweat and grime had stained her dress, she carried a basket which she rested on her hip as best she could since her stomach had extended as a result of her being with child. “Do you need your laundry done, Major?”

“I will,” Ben nodded. He held out his hands for the basket and she gratefully handed it to him. “Where do you need to be? Shall we walk there or would you care to sit?”

“I ought to collect your clothes –“

“It can wait,” Ben started to hold up a hand to object and the basket nearly tipped over at the loss of support. He caught it before the clothes spilled out and righted it. “I wanted to know if perhaps you had seen any new women coming into camp? Specifically one with Lt. Brewster?”

“Oh, I think I know who you mean – brown hair, neat, about yea high,” she held out her hand to indicate height. “Very pretty too.”

“That sounds like her,” Ben nodded. Though in all actuality, that was a bit of a vague description.

Mrs. Milford gave Ben directions as to where she saw them last and Ben thanked her. He offered to carry her basket for her for the rest of the way and she thanked him. They traveled over to where she did her laundry and he took leave of her.

After a short walk across camp, Ben found Anna. She wasn’t where Mrs. Milford had said, but rather was outside Caleb’s tent, talking and laughing with him as she stitched up what appeared to be a pair of socks. Ben would bet a fair amount that she was fixing Caleb’s socks.

“Anna!” he called out and she looked up. Caleb turned as well and then jumped when Anna shoved her work into his hands and ran towards Ben. Ben took long, quick strides to meet her, and laughing, they embraced.

“Careful, Annie, he’s a wounded man,” Caleb said as he came over and hugged them both. Ben felt the crush of Caleb’s arm and Anna’s body and pain shot through him at the contact against his wound, but it was worth it. With two of his best friends with him, it was all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camp followers were totally a thing. They were mostly women who could not afford to be separated from their husbands. Married men sometimes brought their wives along, but most of the followers were poor women who went to make sure they didn't starve or to have protection against enemy troops. (And there were camp followers for both sides of the war.) Washington was not fond of their presence but there wasn't much he could do. He did order his officers to try to get rid of as many as they could, but he did admit that they performed necessary services and tolerated their presence somewhat. 
> 
> For a more detailed description of camp followers and of women in the Revolution in general, I recommend "Revolutionary Mothers: Women in the Struggle for America's Independence" by Carol Berkin. It's short and covers a broad subject, but a very good read!


	3. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Floyds arrive in Philadelphia and attend a ball hosted by General Arnold.

By the grace of God, we have arrived at Philadelphia at last! When we arrived, mama could not conceal her pleasure at seeing papa. Neither could he, he embraced her and kissed her such that she protested, “Really, William! The children!” Of course papa was pleased to see us as well, and we him. He had prepared presents for us. Sweets for all of us, books for Nicky, and dresses for Kitty and me. We visit the tailor tomorrow. Mama also received a dress and when she looked concerned about the prices, papa told us the most amazing details! We are invited to a ball at General Arnold’s! The hero of Saratoga!

But that is not the most wondrous thing! At the ball, his Excellency will be there too!!!

I will be at a ball with the hero of Saratoga and his Excellency General George Washington!!!!!

Oh, I am so overcome with excitement, I should faint!

Nicky is more of the opinion that it would be more of an honor to not attend a ball with the General. Nicky says if Washington is in Philadelphia, it can only be as a result of something horrendous. I hate that he’s most likely right that it is because of bad news. I hate when Nicky’s right.

I will say one negative thing about being in Philadelphia: I am even more nervous that my diary and SK[*] will be discovered. My previous entry was not nearly coded enough. I shall keep both on my person at all times.

_Following General Arnold’s ball._

My heart is still pounding with such fervor I can barely stand!

We attended the ball and his Excellency was late. However I met with Mrs. Washington, a kinder lady I never met before. We spoke easily about frivolous things and while I joined the dancing, she sat talking and waiting for her husband.

I was on the dance floor when they arrived and thus did not observe them at first. Then the dancers parted and I followed suit, perplexed. He strode past us with polite nods and held his hands out to clasp his wife’s. Thinking the dance would start anew, I stepped away to get a drink, but Kitty grabbed my elbow and dragged me over to Nicky. I protested but Kitty silenced me and said, “The General did not come alone, look, he brought an officer and someone I think might be his slave. Isn’t the officer dashing?” she nodded towards the door and I looked.

My heart pounds even more just thinking about it!

My legs went weak and I was suddenly grateful for Kitty’s grasp on my arm. I truly do not believe I would have remained standing without her.

“Nicky, you must introduce us,” Kitty demanded.

“To the slave?” Nicky took a drink of wine. He smiled at me, hoping for someone to join his mirth. When he saw my face, he sighed. Kitty slapped him and protested. “All right, let it never be said I do nothing for my sisters.” He left us and approached the officer.

After a short exchange, the officer and Nicky walked over to us. I managed to compose myself before he saw me, thanks largely to the feel of SK against my leg.

“Major Benjamin Tallmadge, these are my sisters, Mary and Catherine. Now, Polly, you needn’t worry about having a partner for the next dance. Major Tallmadge has kindly agreed to dance with you since I have promised you, Kitty, a dance.”

This did not please Kitty, but the major’s subsequent request to have a later dance saved for him did please her. Nicky led Kitty to the dance floor and the major held his hand out to me. I placed my hand in his and he led me to the floor. As we whirled, twirled, and moved, we made polite conversation. “Tell me, major, from whereabouts is your family?”

“A small town in Long Island, Setauket.”

I nearly tripped over my surprise! “Setauket, really? My father was born near there! Tell me, do you know any Brewsters or Woodhulls?”

At this, he shot me a look of surprise. “Indeed I do, miss. My best friends growing up were Caleb Brewster and Abraham Woodhull…and whereabouts does your family live?”

I hesitated and took advantage of a turn in the steps to think how best to reply. “We used to live outside Brookhaven. Currently we live in Connecticut. My father spends his time at Congress here and visits us as he is able. We were meant to visit in April, but were delayed.”

He studied my face as he put his hands on me. Then, as close to me as he could be with propriety, he whispered, “And pray, tell me, when did you become a 16.10.28[†] for us?”

I looked him in the eye and said, “Why, sir, I know not what you mean.” His lips twitched and I prayed he would not speak another word! So I took events into my own hands and copied his earlier efforts at secrecy by whispering closely. “We need to talk, let us go outside following this dance for air.”

He agreed. We finished the dance and as my sister approached, I declared, “I could do with some air. And perhaps a drink. Major?”

He met me outside the Arnolds’ home with two glasses of wine. I had retrieved SK and held it out to him when he presented the wine to me. He took it and I informed him I had not had any need of it.

The starlight did not reach his face, but I could see him faintly and the darkness made me shiver. “You must understand, major –

“Benjamin.” I was baffled and asked him to explain. “My name is Benjamin. You tended to my wound, we shared a horse, you risked your life to get intelligence to me, the very least I can do is request you call me by my Christian name.”

“Benjamin,” I tried it. I like it. I liked it then and I like it now. On the way home, I kept hearing it in my mind, like a song. “What I did then…it was a one time event.” He nodded and I continued. “You cannot tell my father. You cannot tell my family.”

He laughed, a beautiful sound. “Miss Floyd, I would no sooner tell your family than chew off my own arm! Your secret is safe with me, I give you my word.”

I studied him, still uncertain. “And what if your word is meaningless? Or you break it? Men may demand satisfaction, but how can I be satisfied? If you betrayed me and my confidence, could I challenge you to a duel?”

He smiled. “Can you fire a pistol?”

“I cannot imagine it is too difficult,” I sniffed.

“And how is your aim?”

“I…I do not know.”

“I wouldn’t advise a duel.”

I fumbled for a counter. “There are…other methods…other weapons to use.”

“Swords?” I nodded. “Can you use a saber?” I recalled the saber on his hip last time and bit my lip. “I thought not. Another method would be hand to hand combat.”

“I can do that,” I said surely. “I have a brother and sister, you think I have not engaged in fisticuffs before?”

Again he laughed. Then he took my hands in his and removed my gloves. My stomach felt incredible. It was as if I might vomit and yet it was not unpleasant! My senses took leave of me. He smoothed his fingers over my hand, feeling my palms and fingers. “Here,” he touched the knuckle of my right ring finger. “A callus, most likely from sewing. I’ve not met a woman without that callus. Make a fist.” I did so, though I cannot explain why I let him order me around like that! He held up one hand. “Hit my hand as hard as you can.” I threw the punch and ended up nearly falling over as I had thrown my whole weight into it. He caught me. “I thought as much. Now feel my hands.” I did so; they were rough, strong, and yet gentle. “I have battlefield experience, Miss Floyd. Not to mention I am taller and outweigh you. If you were to duel me, you would lose. Provided I fought, which of course I would not. I assure you, my word is worth your trust. Now, you will excuse me, any longer and we might appear to be indecent.” He let go of me and walked towards the house.

“How?” I called.

He stopped and turned around. “Pardon?”

“How can I hold you to your word?”

“When you determine a way, let me know.” He resumed his walking.

“And how do I let you know?” I asked.

He didn’t stop his walking and it wasn’t until we were on our way home that I realized he had never returned my gloves to me.

 

 

[*] scrimshaw knife

[†] spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fun facts/explanations: Polly is a nickname for Mary. It's weird but I stopped questioning that after taking Russian and learning that Sasha is a nickname for Alexander and Alexandra.
> 
> William Floyd was born around Brookhaven, NY and had contact with various people in Setauket: Nathaniel Woodhull married Mr. Floyd's sister Ruth. Nathaniel was a General and relative of Abraham's. In 1763, Mr. Floyd assisted in the separation of Ruth Brewster from her husband Charles Jeffery Smith. I'm not sure how she's related to Caleb. 
> 
> In April of 1779, the Floyds did visit their father in Philadelphia but for the purposes of the story, I've said they were delayed :) 
> 
> Sources: A Portrait of William Floyd, Long Islander by William Q Maxwell. (The full text is available online, if you're interested.)


	4. Testimony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben testifies before Congress.

The morning after the ball, Ben found himself sharing breakfast with the Washingtons and the recently elected president of Congress, Samuel Huntingon. According to Washington, Huntington had been elected at the end of September after John Jay took the position as ambassador to Spain. Huntingon was from Connecticut, which he and Washington took some time comparing their colonies while Ben tried not to think of ways to smuggle the molasses and bread back to camp. He didn’t think he could get the porridge back, but he was pretty sure that if he tucked the bread just so in a napkin, he could take it upstairs and hide it in his luggage. The molasses could be poured into his canteen; it would just take a bit to pour and if he timed it right, he could avoid being observed stealing. But he couldn’t steal it, that would be wrong. But the previous winters had not been easy and Ben could appreciate the squirrels storing nuts far better than he ever could have before.

 

“Oh, major,” Mr. Huntington turned to Ben, who had to bite his tongue not to apologize for his thoughts of thievery. _-But if Caleb were here, he would find a way to transport those sausages back to camp without hesitation. –_ Ben looked up and Mr. Huntington continued. “My servants are headed out to town soon, if you have your list ready.”

 

Ben nodded and excused himself to fetch the list, money, and a package to be delivered. He brought them to Mr. Huntington, who left to give them to his servants. “I feel guilty,” Ben said to Washington. “Especially given what we are to testify to Congress.”

 

Washington swallowed, preparing to answer, but Mrs. Washington placed her napkin on the table and spoke. “You have nothing to feel guilty about, Major Tallmadge. You have put yourself in harm’s way day after day for the safety and liberty of this nation, I’d say you have more than earned your trinkets.”

 

Washington smiled fondly at his wife as they all rose from their seats. “Indeed, Benjamin, you have gone without pay long enough.” They headed out of the house and were joined by Billy Lee. All present, they began the short trip to the state house. Washington reminded Ben of the importance of what they were about to do, which Ben thought unnecessary. Washington also reminded him that the delegates were not soldiers, they would not take orders. They would need to be convinced, they would need to feel it was a choice they were making. Passerby stopped and stared at the general who nodded at them all graciously, all the while talking. A few of the civilians looked at Ben as if trying to place him. It made him feel uncomfortable but he couldn’t figure out why. Every day people sought him out, they knew his name, he was judged by his men, camp women studied him, but he was used to that, he had taken it all in stride. This staring made him want to hurry his steps.

 

Inside the hall, delegates greeted them. They mostly greeted Washington and gave Ben a few pleasantries, but they all together ignored Billy Lee. Billy Lee led Mrs. Washington away and Ben glanced at the tables well equipped with quills, inkwells, and paper. At those tables sat some men with hard faces. These would be the men Washington had prepared Ben for – these would be the ones he would need to convince and sway with facts and appeals to their authority.

 

Billy Lee rejoined them as they took their seats.

 

Mr. Huntington opened the session for business. First they called the roll and Ben imagined they would go directly to the matter of the currency. To his surprise, they discussed old business – directions on answering letters and other trivials. Washington sat next to Ben, not bothered by the delay. He listened to their discussion and though he said nothing, he appeared to have constructive opinions. Were Ben to speak, he would demand they move on to the most pressing issue: the counterfeit currency!

 

At last they were called upon to speak. The General rose, smoothed his clothes, and said quietly but with force, “Gentlemen, it has been too long since last we saw one another. I wish this were a reunion of joy, but instead I bring woeful tidings. While America has from the start been plagued with a struggle to pay for her defense, the British have just robbed us of what we had been able to afford previously. We have uncovered a plot of counterfeit and unfortunately were too late to stop it. I would like to introduce Major Benjamin Tallmadge, my chief of intelligence, who can further verify and explain this.”

 

Ben rose and his stomach twisted. He took a breath and reminded himself that he could do this. If he could teach students who would greatly prefer to be outdoors or gossiping, if he could order armed men in battle, he could speak to Congress. “Gentlemen,” he cleared his throat and pushed on. “The counterfeit scheme exceeds the usual forgery we encounter. This is a plot sanctioned by the British commanders and led by my counterpart in their army.” Billy Lee handed Ben a dollar and Ben checked it. “This is one of our continental dollars. It is not a forgery.” Billy Lee handed him the counterfeit one, it was marked with a small hole from a needle that Ben had made so as to know the difference. “And this is the forgery.” He walked up and handed the two bills to Mr. Huntington. The president examined them and then had them passed around the room. “The only way to tell the difference is that I marked the counterfeit when I brought it back for evidence. There were twelve teams of shovers, we were able to only catch one team. The team leader died following a struggle and thus we were unable to learn any more.”

 

Ben stopped speaking as he noticed the delegates were whispering to each other.

 

One of the delegates stood when Mr. Huntington recognized him. “Major Tallmadge, if the only way to tell the forgery from the real is by a mark you made, how are we to tell apart the ones you did not mark?”

 

“I’m afraid there isn’t a way,” Ben admitted. “The paper is ours, the printing a perfect replica – “

 

One delegate snapped, “Nicholson told us of the paper and ink he found aboard a captured vessel! How was this not predicted?!”

 

Uncertain if that was directed at him or not, Ben glanced at Washington. Washington inclined his head and Ben answered. “We were not aware that Mr. Nicholson had discovered this.”

 

“Lies!” the delegate scoffed. “This body sent you notice of such when we received it!”

 

“And is it so unlikely that the message was lost? Intercepted?” another delegate chimed in in defense of Ben. Ben turned towards that delegate, hoping to convey his thanks with a look, but the delegate did not look at Ben. “Delayed? Misdirected? Honestly, man, we are war and speaking to matters involving spies!”

 

"It was printed in the _Virginia Gazette_!"

 

"We are not able to read every newspaper in the colonies," Ben knew it was a weak defense but it was his only defense.

 

Mr. Huntington reminded the delegates to follow the rules of order and called upon a delegate from Virginia. The delegate asked Ben how much money had been forged. Wishing he had a solid answer, Ben admitted that they only had an estimate based upon the sacks of currency confiscated at Moodna Creek. At the estimate, a few delegates swore in disgust and anger.

 

Another delegate was acknowledged and he stood up. “How do you know there were twelve teams, each armed with that much money?”

 

“Our agent learned of their plan and sent the intelligence on –“

 

“And who is your…agent, did you call him?”

 

“Yes, agent. And I am not able, sir, to identify him.”

 

“You believe a member of Congress would do him harm? Would turn him over to the British?”

 

“No, sir,” Ben quickly realized the potential trap the delegate had set for him. “It’s that…I cannot name any of my agents. If I cannot trust myself to keep their identities secret, then I cannot trust anyone else to do so. I apologize, sir. I trust this source. It took a great deal of work to establish this agent and I will do nothing to endanger him. Rest assured that his reports have not been false and that he has my full confidence.”

 

After a few more questions, each less confrontational than the previous, Ben was thanked for his testimony and after some more discussion, the Congress voted on the issue of bankruptcy.

 

* * *

 

Back at camp, Ben went first to deliver the presents he had purchased at Philadelphia. A quick stop by Mrs. Milford’s tent allowed him to give her the rosemary soap and sweets. She had mentioned craving them and he intended them for her, but as soon as her two children saw him give her the parcels, they began chorusing, “What did Uncle Tallmadge bring us? Mama, can we have some now?” She gave them each a sweet and sent them out to play after they thanked him. Feeling bad, Ben handed over half the candy he’d brought back for Caleb so she could have some for herself. “You’re a good man, major,” she deeply inhaled the scent of the soap. “A very good man.”

 

“Well, you never complain about cleaning the blood out of my uniform,” Ben quipped.

 

“Oh honey,” she laughed uproariously. “Us women do enough laundry and see enough blood for it to be routine!” Ben frowned, not comprehending and she laughed harder. “Why don’t you ask your lady friend?”

 

“Mrs. Strong? I will. Thank you. Have a pleasant day, ma’am.” Ben left her tent and headed over to Mr. Sackett’s old cart, now Anna’s.

 

For Anna, he had brought back sweets, lavender soap, some ribbons for her hair, and warmer shoes for the winter. “I hope they’re your size,” he watched her unwrap them nervously. “It’s been a while since I last saw your feet. Normally, they’re hidden by your skirts.”

  
Anna began to unlace her shoes to try the boots on, “Hmm, I think the last time you might have seen my feet was before you went off to Yale. Probably when we climbed Mr. Brewster’s apple trees –“

 

Ben laughed, “I remember that, Abe became stuck and you climbed up to help him down but –“ he laughed harder. “But then Mr. Brewster came out to yell at us for bruising the apples –“

 

“And Abe fell out of the tree of shock,” she laughed too.

 

“He landed on Caleb! Nearly landed on me too!”

 

Their laughs died out and Anna slipped on the boots. “I miss those days,” she said sadly. “Back when it was all so…”

 

“Safe.” Ben finished.

 

“No, not safe. Honest.” She took off the boots and put her regular shoes back on. “I’ve been thinking a lot about honesty lately, Ben. And where my life will go after the war, how I’ll live with the lies or what I’ll be able to be honest about. How will I explain this to Selah? He doesn’t deserve to be lied to, but I can’t tell him about the ring. And…not all of what I did required lies.”

 

Ben didn’t know how to answer. So he just took her hands in his and sighed. “Anna, I promise I won’t lie to you. If I can’t tell you…I’ll just say that. That I can’t tell you, that is. With me and Caleb…you won’t have to lie. And…depending on how this war turns out…we’ll stand by you.”

 

“Thank you, Ben. For the presents and for…for your promise.” She busied herself by inspecting one of Sackett’s many contraptions. “Some letters arrived for you while you were away, I kept them at the desk here just in case any were confidential.”

 

Ben thanked her and went to read his letters. There were the standard communiqués and then he opened one that was anything but standard.

 

_Dear Major Tallmadge,_

_I thank you for returning my gloves to me._

_I also write to ask for your forgiveness. I heard your testimony before Congress and I regret pressing you about the strength of your word. I know now that you are an honorable and trustworthy man and I should not have doubted. I offer my sincerest apology._

_I shall keep you in my prayers._

_~~Sincerely yours,~~ _

_~~Yours sincerely,~~ _

_~~Yours,~~ _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mary Floyd_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to Nicholson and the Virginia Gazette is a nod to the fact that Commodore Samuel Nicholson's frigate captured the Glencairn and discovered the ink and paper on August 9, 1779. The Virginia Gazette published his account in early October. 
> 
> "Uncle Tallmadge" is a reference to Tallmadge being called that by the Wadsworth kids (General Washington's Commando: Benjamin Tallmadgein the Revolutionary War by Richard F Welch). I thought it was cute and I can't help but wonder how Tallmadge interacted with the camp followers' children.


	5. Correspondence Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note there is some violence in this chapter in a dream sequence. It is nothing worse than you might see in say, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, so I don't intend to up the rating, but I want to give a warning just in case. 
> 
> [These brackets indicate that the entire section was written in code in Mary's actual diary, but for ease of reading, they've been written as if she hadn't coded it.]

_Mary Floyd’s diary_

 

_Early December 1779_

_Philadelphia_

 

Yesterday we attended a gathering at Mrs. Stewart’s to sew shirts and knit socks. Kitty and I sat next to each other, sewing shirts. One girl there, Margaret Harper, mentioned to us that she intended to stitch her name into the shirt. Apparently this is something other girls have done and some have ended up married because of it! Imagine! Kitty laughed and promised to do it if I would. Mama overheard us and said, “You will do nothing of the sort!” We let that topic die and continued with other things.

Then last night, while I brushed and braided Kitty’s hair for bed, Kitty asked me if I thought mama believed we would lose the war. I laughed. “Perhaps, we are against England after all, the strongest army in the world.” Kitty swallowed. “But our soldiers are fighting for our homes, they know this land more than the king’s men. We’ll be fine.”

“I just…I think mama worries papa will be…executed for treason. And that’s why she didn’t want us to embroider our names on the shirts – she doesn’t want us losing our husbands.”

I did my best to talk that worry down but I spent many hours awake last night thinking of what might happen if we did lose the war. And then I had the worst dream! I shall record it all in its gore and horror in hopes that having a full record shall banish it from my mind forever.

[I dreamt we lost the war and I found myself back at the {drawing of a sun on the horizon} desperately trying to locate Kitty and Nicky. I could not and instead found myself staring at the major. He offered me his hand and promised to help me to safety. I took his offer and as we rode, we were surrounded by redcoats!

Outnumbered, the major surrendered and presented me as a hostage he had taken. They took us both to Philadelphia where I was identified and informed that my father had already been executed. They showed me his head, removed from his body. Its eyes and mouth were open in an expression of pained horror and I burst into tears. Not believing the major’s claim, they threw me in a cell where I could hear them torture him. I heard his screams and pleas for mercy for what seemed to be hours.

At dawn, General Arnold was brought in, both knees broken. They dragged him along and asked him to identify the major. He named him and the major’s position, which prompted them to torture him some more. They wanted names of his agents and I heard him say, “If I cannot be trusted with the names of my agents, no one can.” In consciousness, the statement rings pointless, but it was enough to make my dream self rip my hair from my scalp and scratch my arms bloody.

They could pry no names from the major. He told them nothing. They brought him to my cell and threw him on the ground before me.

Aside from filthy breeches, he wore nothing. His face was bruised, bloody, and broken. Several of his teeth were missing, one eye swollen shut, but he looked at me with all his wits clear. “I am a man of honor,” he said to the redcoats and me. “And I tell you, this woman was my hostage. Nothing more.” He had difficulty breathing, his chest was bruised like Mr. Greene’s after a snake had spooked Midnight and Midnight had thrown Mr. Greene to the ground and accidentally trampled him.

“Very well, miss, you’re free to go,” they set me loose and the next day, I watched them drag the major through the streets, half hang him, and then take him away only to emerge hours later with his decapitated head.

King George himself found me in the streets, forced me to stare at the major’s head. “This is the price of treason,” he informed all of us. “Never forget.”]

I woke up crying and papa agreed not to attend the session of Congress after I begged him not to go. He seemed taken aback and kept assuring me that everything would be all right, that whatever my nightmare had been about, it was just a nightmare. But how quickly could it turn into reality? At the very least I know the punishments for treason. My peers with Tory parents had told me such before mama took us to Connecticut.

I took out the letter I had received from the major following the ball. In it, he apologized for failing to return my gloves that night. He also provided me an address to send a letter to, provided I thought of a way to hold him to his word. I have already sent him a letter and I do not anticipate a reply. I asked for no reply.

But I would like one all the same.

Just to know he lives.

 

_Later_

 

I sat with papa, reading. The novel I selected to bring on this trip has failed to hold my interest. I borrowed one from Mrs. House but that failed me as well. I cannot help but think of my dream. Papa finished the newspapers and started _Gulliver’s Travels_. I borrowed the newspaper. “Do you ever worry about the end of this war?” I asked him.

Papa frowned, “I don’t know what you mean, Polly. Fear the end in what manner?”

“If we lose…if you would be…,” I could not finish that sentence!

“Hmm…” he closed his book, leaving a finger to mark his place. “Does it worry you?”

I admitted it did.

Papa explained that yes, he was, at times, afraid. He could not fathom how one could not be afraid. History did not offer hope for our rebellion. He held his hand out for mine and I gave it. He held my hand and said that fear could never rule a good man. It is every good man’s duty to defend his family and friends. The king had proven through his actions that he is not a good man. If he had to die, papa told me, then it would be worth it. “I would rather die for my principles than live without them,” papa declared.

~~I suppose that is all well and good, noble even. Yet I cannot help but despise that selfish need to stand by one’s principles if it could result in hurting the very ones your principles supposedly favor.~~

 

_After supper_

 

I have not the faintest understanding of what I wrote previously! How could I have thought such? Papa’s principles would not be at fault if papa is executed upon the end of the war. The fault would rest with the king, who, time and time again, proved he shares no such principles and nobleness!

 

December 10, 1779

Margaret Harper stopped by this morning to invite Kitty and me to accompany her to another sewing circle. We accepted and this circle consisted of more young ladies closer to our age than previously. There we met a young woman who announced to us that she had become engaged to a soldier she had met through stitching her name into a shirt! They had begun corresponding after he sent her a letter to thank her for her hard work!

He will travel to Philadelphia once his bounty is up and they will marry. I can scarce believe the scheme actually works!

36 16-18-36-2-2 38-52-22-44 6-36-40-38-18-4-52-14-44-16 8-42 18-38-44 4-52-34-8-14!

 

December 13

Papa has two more sessions of Congress before we travel home! I look forward to Christmas and New Year in Connecticut with my whole family!

36 10-14-52-28 42-8-14 38-36-4.

 

December 14

A letter arrived for me today.

From the major!

 

_Dear Miss Floyd,_

_I am pleased to learn you believe me to be worth your trust._

_I am sorry, though, to report that I do not accept your apology. You had every right to doubt me and therefore committed no wrongdoing. I cannot accept an apology where it is not needed._

_Winter is upon us and though I have no right to ask this of you, I should very much appreciate it if you would consent to exchange letters with me. Winter is a taxing time for us at camp and it would lift my spirits to hear of home life. My family is largely unable to send letters. If this disagrees with you, please accept my deepest apologies and let us pretend the request was never issued._

_I hope this letter reaches you in good health._

_Your obedient servant,_

_Benj. Tallmadge_

 

December 17

 

We depart for home today! We are also not the only ones departing Philadelphia this month. Soon General Arnold will travel to face court martial! Papa explained to Nicky that the general faces charges involving his finances. I do recall that his home was elaborately decorated and I understand it was restored at great cost to him. Given the currency crisis, I do not understand how he was able to afford it. Papa says the court martial will solve that conundrum. Miss Shippen, General Arnold's wife-to-be, is from a family rumored to be loyalists. Surely that cannot be the case? The hero of Saratoga would not marry a loyalist!

Mama is thrilled to be going home and bringing papa with us! She keeps humming and glancing at papa like they are sweethearts once again. It is rather embarrassing for Nicky, Kitty, and I. 

It is papa's birthday as well!

Before we depart Philadelphia, I have a letter to post.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 10th translation: I still have nightmares of the major!  
> December 13: I pray for him.


	6. Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary loses Ben's letter.

_Dear Major Tallmadge,_

_I am pleased to correspond with you. Like my father, I am invested in this revolution and though I am a mere woman, I wish to help. Whilst in Philadelphia, we attended sewing circles to sew clothes for soldiers. Is this helpful to the brave men or would our time be best served in another capacity?_

_My family leaves for Connecticut around the time of posting this letter. My father shall spend the holidays with us and then return to Congress. We shall enjoy having him home! How shall you spend the winter and how does it differ from before the war?_

_Is there anything I may send you for the holidays?_

_You mentioned your family is unable to write, may I ask why not?_

_Enclosed is my address in Connecticut. You may reach me there._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mary Floyd_

 

* * *

 

_Mary Floyd’s diary_

 

December 23

 

We are two days from the beginning of Christmas season and it has become extremely wretched! We have arrived home and at last I can safely store my diary and things without fear of discovery but I cannot find Major Tallmadge’s letter! I have looked everywhere, turned out every trunk, turned every page of this book and _no letter_!!

I shudder at the prospect of asking if anyone has seen it and will refrain from doing so. If it is lost, it is lost.

After dinner

If only it HAD been lost!!! Wretched Kitty found it! She’s had it since yesterday when she found it on the floor of the inn! It must have fallen out while I changed clothes – but either way, she kept it and she READ it!! I shan’t be speaking with her!

She brought it up at dinner last night! While we were enjoying our first meal home with papa – though ‘tis not really home as we are not on Long Island – Kitty asked mama what she thought of exchanging letters with soldiers. I imagined she had met someone at General Arnold’s ball or one of her friends was in communication with a soldier. ‘Twas not the case.

Mama said she had no opinion as there were many reasons why one might write a soldier.

Kitty specified unmarried women writing to unmarried soldiers they had met recently.

“Out with it, Kitty,” Nicky ordered.

She produced the letter and held it out to mama. Mama took it and Kitty announced, “Polly’s writing to a soldier she met at the ball in Philadelphia!”

Words cannot express the horror I felt! Just what did Kitty know? How had she come upon that letter?? At the time, I did not know. Mama opened the letter and read it for herself and I wished to be swallowed whole by the ground!

“Who?” Nicky asked. “To whom are you writing?”

“Major Benjamin Tallmadge,” Kitty declared. Nicky raised a brow and then hid a smile behind his glass.

Papa took the letter from mama but frowned at the name. He read the letter and then addressed Kitty. “Catherine, this was not your letter to read. Judging by Mary’s face, she did not give you permission to read it. What you did was wrong and you must apologize to your sister.” Kitty gave me an apology, though I have not fully accepted. Papa asked to speak with me after dinner but after he spoke with mama.

I felt sick until we spoke and he gave me back the letter. I crumpled it in my hands accidentally, I was so distraught. Papa sat smoking his pipe and waited a few minutes. We sat in silence, mama watched me as I tried to keep the tears at bay. At long last, papa spoke.

“How did Major Tallmadge happen upon your gloves and how did they know they were yours?” 

I swallowed and 2-36-44-46. I said I mentioned to him that I had lost my gloves before we left the ball. He must have found them, I surmised, and offered to forward them to me in lieu of the general having to deal with such a minor task.

“And for what purpose did the major provide his address to you in case you,” and here he quoted, “ ‘thought up a method by which’ he ‘can prove the strength of his word’?” 

I began to cry then. “I swear, it is for nothing indecent – I merely…embarrassed myself in front of him and he assured me he would not tell. I said I did not fully believe him and that I would be worried…”I could not continue.

“Embarrassed yourself how?" 

“I made comment regarding an acquaintance of his that I did not wish his acquaintance to know.”

40-8-46 42-8-14-40-36-22-44 4-44, 36 2-36-44-46 18-8 4-28 10-52-14-44-6-18-16.

52-6-46 44-22-44-6 24-8-14-16-44?

36 46-8 6-8-18 14-44-40-14-44-18 36-18.

They informed me that they were disappointed I kept his request for correspondence secret. I had nothing to hide and should have been forthcoming. I apologized for that and they gave me their blessing to continue writing to him.

 

* * *

 

  

_January 10, 1780_

_Dear Miss Floyd,_

_The clothing is much appreciated by all here. Indeed, I have seen many go without various articles of clothing and anything warm is greeted with joy. I thank you on behalf of every soldier for your efforts._

_As for my plans, I too shall be in Connecticut. My troops will have lighter duties now that it is winter. I need to see to their pay and supplies. I shall also spend time at camp as often as the enemy dictates necessary. Perhaps we shall see one another in Connecticut?_

_It is very different from before the war. Until ’73, I attended school. I graduated from Yale and took a post as superintendent of a school, so I suppose until the war, I spent all my time in school. In many ways, though, my position as superintendent and as major are similar. I handle the finances, settle disputes, equip staff, and recruit. Admittedly, there were more books to be read outside of war. I do miss that._

_There is no need to send anything for the holidays. My father is a Presbyterian minister. He is my only surviving family member. My mother passed shortly before I entered college and my brother, Samuel, died as a prisoner of war a few years ago. My father cannot write to me as he has little funds and we had established the habit of not writing when he lived in the presence of Tories._

_How is your family?_

_Your servant,_

_Benjamin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 2-36-44-46 = lied  
> The rest reads "God forgive me, I lied to my parents. And the worst? I do not regret it.
> 
> So, Christmas back then was NOT a big deal. Congress didn't take time off like they do now (but I sent William back because I can and congressional delegates often skipped. Congressional attendance sucked.) Different branches of Christianity celebrated differently, some didn't celebrate AT ALL (looking at you, Puritans!) and some were more open to it. Presbyterians didn't have any special services until around 1775 when they noticed their parishioners were heading off to churches that DID celebrate it, probably because it was more fun. Reverend Tallmadge's church was Presbyterian so Ben was most likely raised without any Christmas celebrations - though who knows what he got up to at Yale? The Floyds were Congregational and would have been more open to celebrations. The New Year would have been a bit closer to what we think of when we think Christmas, that is the exchange of presents, but that would be more for giving slaves new clothes and such. 
> 
> Tallmadge did spend winters in Connecticut and not at Washington's camp. The 2nd Continental Light Dragoons were out of Connecticut and so they would go back during the winter months. Tallmadge would have to train men and horses, get supplies, and argue about funding. Since the show places him at camp most of the time, I'm going to have him traveling back and forth. 
> 
> As for the timeline, I'm a bit rushed by the show. I can stretch things out a bit, but the show makes it all seem so fast when in reality, it was a lot slower. Events of 3x07 "Judgment" ought to take place around January 23 - as that's when Arnold's court martial finished. It took a bit longer for him to get it translated and printed. So those events should be next chapter! :) 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting! I really appreciate it! <3


	7. Lashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben deals with the repercussions of assaulting a fellow officer following Sarah Livingston's death.

When Louise had dared her to watch the men as their superiors whipped them, Mabel had not imagined she would see Uncle Tallmadge suffer under the whip. But there he was all the same, shirtless, hands restrained so he could not fight back, accepting the punishment of ten lashes for striking an officer. Another officer faced a similar punishment, twenty-five lashes. What his crime had been, Mabel didn’t know. She didn’t listen, she only focused on Uncle Tallmadge, the way his stomach tensed, waxing and waning in rhythm with gasping before the blows and sucking in breath following. She watched his face as he cried out, more from the anxiety than the pain, she reasoned, since he bore the marks of two bullets. Uncle Tallmadge could handle pain, she figured. The crack of the whip filled her ears as an afterthought, but his yells caused her to burst into tears and vomit by the fourth lash.

At her sobbing, his eyes met hers and he did not cry out for the following six. Instead he bit his lip and drew blood. Immediately after, she ran to him. He picked her up and cradled her against his chest. “Halt!” he yelled hoarsely, his voice barely had any volume. “There’s a child!”

“Get her out of here, then,” the man in charge of the lashes ordered. Mabel cried against Uncle Tallmadge’s chest and he left the grounds without retrieving his clothes. She kept her hands away from his back, more out of fear of touching blood than of hurting him. He carried her across the camp to her family’s tent.

Mrs. Milford looked up from her sewing and gasped. “Mabel! Are you hurt?” Uncle Tallmadge passed her to her mother and then Mrs. Milford cried out at the sight of him.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he managed to say. “I thought it best to get her back to you than to – I apologize, I will go collect my clothes.” He turned before Mabel’s mother could say a word, but he did not make it out of the tent. Instead he swayed on his feet, reached out for something to steady himself, and then he collapsed.

 

* * *

 

Anna focused on the parchment before her and once again attempted to write to Selah. She only had two words: dearest Selah. After that, she did not know how to continue. How to explain what led her to the Continental camp? Should she confess her infidelity with Abraham? Would he forgive her? Then what to say of Edmund?

Little Louise Milford burst into the cart and Anna looked up with relief. Her relief quickly vanished when Louise burst out that Mrs. Milford desired Anna’s presence in Ben’s tent. “He’s hurt.” Anna and Louise ran the short distance and whatever thoughts had passed through Anna’s mind about how Ben might have been hurt, she had not anticipated this.

Ben lay on his cot on his stomach, his back raw. Mrs. Milford had a cloth and was cleaning his back to see where best to place the bandages. Anna immediately picked up another and helped her. By the time they had finished debating how best to bandage him while he lay unconscious, he had come to.

“Anna?” he asked.

“You’re lucky Caleb isn’t here right now,” Anna scolded him.

“Yeah,” he said weakly. “He wouldn’t stop pointing out that there are two women in my tent while I’m in a state of undress.”

Anna convinced Mrs. Milford that she could take care of Ben and the woman left the tent. “What happened?” Anna demanded, beginning to bandage him.

Like when he had been stung by the bee, Ben began to cry. His lips trembled and he tried to hold the tears back, but it was no use. With gentle platitudes, Anna pulled him to her and let him cry. Embedded in his sobs were incoherent words that Anna guessed explained why he was crying. He didn’t need to explain it to her, those lashes were explanation enough and he was more than entitled to a breakdown. In the short while she had been at camp, Ben had been besieged with bad news and physical ailments. She stroked his hair soothingly. At first her fingers ghosted over the little braid by his ear that Louise had convinced him to let her make as part of her practice. Then, just to be sure it wasn’t a figment of her imagination, she ran her fingers over it again. It was the very braid. Anna felt a pang of homesickness but the kind of homesickness for a what-might-have-been. If this war hadn’t happened, would she have married Abraham? Would Ben come to visit Setauket from his school and stopped by their home? And if they had children, would Ben have let her daughter braid his hair?

“She’s dead,” Ben moaned against Anna’s shoulder, coherent for the first time since his tears had begun. His words jolted her out of her imaginings and confused her. Who was dead? All the women in camp Anna knew were still alive. So it must have been someone outside of camp or someone Anna didn’t know. But what woman in camp would Ben know that Anna didn’t? Or what woman outside of camp would Ben have received word concerning? Some woman from Connecticut? Had he found someone and never mentioned her?

“Who’s dead?” Anna asked.

“Sarah,” his hot, muggy breath against her neck became uncomfortable and she pushed him back a bit.

“Who’s Sarah?” Ben pulled away from her completely and dropped his head in his hands to cry some more. “Ben, who’s Sarah?”

“The – the Tory woman they brought into camp earlier,” Ben sniffled and rubbed the back of his hands against his eyes.

Anna didn’t know what to make of that. She didn’t know what to ask either. Should she ask how this Sarah woman died? Or should she ask what she really wanted to know: why was Ben so upset about her death?

Of course, Ben had always been a kindhearted soul. When her dog had died, Ben had showed up to help her bury the dog and even held a small service for it. He had taken his father’s Bible so as to give the ceremony more authority. He was always the first to offer condolences to anyone who lost a relative and he always offered them sincerely. So it was entirely plausible that Ben was sad because someone was dead.

“She saved my life and I couldn’t save hers.”

“What?” Anna asked. “When – how did she save your life?”

Ben gestured at the scarring wound on his side. “She found me, she took the bullet out and stitched me up – and I _lied_ to her. I told her I’d been robbed, that I was a traveling minister – “

The guilt from those lies clearly ate at him, so Anna assured him, “You did nothing wrong. You had to protect yourself –“

 “Anna, I took her to bed with those lies still between us.”

General Washington could have walked naked through the camp, singing “God Save the King”, and danced with King George III and Anna would not have been more astounded than she was at Ben’s confession.

“You…went to bed with this woman.”

Ben sighed. “I just said that.”

“Not to…sleep?”

Ben glared at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“And this was the woman brought into camp?”

Ben nodded and looked up at the ceiling of the tent. “Oh,” was all Anna could say.

“I tried to save her,” he whispered in agony. “I had a plan, all she had to do was sign _the letter_ – she refused and I had nothing, no way to save her – and while I tried to think of a new way, that – that damned arse Randall _accosted_ her and _killed_ her when she fought back!”

“That Captain, you mean?” Anna knew the man. She’d heard a few of the camp women talk about him and the kindest things they’d had to say about him were that he was ‘unpleasant’ and ‘unsatisfying’. The older camp women tried to steer younger ones away from him. She’d heard the men talk of him as ‘efficient’ and ‘dedicated’.

“I,” Ben looked at his hands and then held them up for her to see. The backs were bruised. “I attacked him when I realized what had happened.”

So that explained the lashing. Assaulting officers and aggressive behavior to one’s fellow soldiers was not tolerated. Unfortunately for Ben, to avoid favoritism and partiality, he had to be made an example of, a reminder to the rest of the men.

Anna soothed him as best she could and he fell into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

General Knox asked the aide-de-camp if Washington was available for a chat. The ADC let him in and Washington looked up hopefully and then saw it was just Knox. “I hoped you were Martha,” Washington admitted.

“I admire and esteem you,” Knox grinned. “But there’s no way in hell I’d marry you.”

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you,” Washington laughed. “What can I do for you, Henry?”

“George,” Knox shuffled his feet uncertainly. “I had to discipline your man Tallmadge just now. He and another officer had a row over a prisoner – suspicious circumstances according to Tallmadge, Captain Randall insists it was self defense as the prisoner attempted to escape – but I had to make an example of him.”

Washington said nothing.

 “We need order now, especially following the financial ruin of Congress – if we don’t keep the men in line, this army will fall apart. I was as lenient as could be –“

“Is he gravely injured?”

“No, ten lashes, that’s all.”

“You acted correctly.”

“I just wanted you to know, George.”

 

* * *

 

“Major Tallmadge,” Ben woke to the messenger gently shaking him. “Letters for you.” Ben sat up and accepted the letter and package. His back ached but he felt a bit better after crying over Sarah.

The package grabbed his attention and he pulled off the string and paper. Inside was a book of poetry by Anne Bradstreet. He had read a few of her poems but not many.

 

_Dear Major Tallmadge,_

_You will be more than welcome to have dinner with us when you are in Connecticut. Send word, though, so we may set a place for you._

_The Christmas season is upon us and though you do not celebrate – though I must ask why not? We have neighbors who are Presbyterian and yet attend our services and parties. – I send you this copy of Mrs. Bradstreet’s poetry. She’s one of my favorite poets and she’s technically our first American woman poet. Did you read any of her work at Yale? I hope not. You mentioned missing the reading and I hope there are at least a few poems in this edition that you have not read._

_My Christmas is going well. Kitty and I have reconciled, did I mention we had argued? I do not think so. She is determined to sew the most beautiful dress for a dance at the governor’s. In doing so, she requires my help as there are still a few stitches that give her trouble. She has opted for a lilac color, which will look divine with her complexion. For her present from me, I have given her the lace to add to the collar and sleeves._

_Betsy has just asked me to play tea ceremony with her, more later._

_I have just finished playing with Betsy and I realize you most likely are wondering who Betsy is. Betsy is my youngest sister, four years of age. Mama opted to leave her at home while we traveled to Philadelphia as she did not believe Betsy would do well in the city or on the trip. She is a darling little girl, even Nicky agrees and he had so hoped for a brother!_

_Father leaves tomorrow for Philadelphia and I shall trust this letter with him until he can post it to you._

_Betsy has asked me to include a drawing of hers for you. I do not know what it is, truthfully. She drew it with Kitty and when I asked Kitty if Betsy had told her anything about it, Kitty answered in the negative. All we can say is that it appears to be a blob with horns? Perhaps they are ears, but they are rather sharp looking!_

_My family sends you their best wishes for your health and for the army’s._

_Yours,_

_Mary_

Ben found the drawing tucked in the pages of the book. Indeed it resembled nothing he could distinguish. Nevertheless, it made him smile and he began to flip through the poems. Some of them were familiar but not all of them.

A few lines of one page jumped out to him: "If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome."

He set the book aside and stood up to dress. He had some unfortunate news to tell the general and he could not put it off any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Anne Bradstreet quotation is from her work "Meditations Divine and Moral." 
> 
> Updated as of 4x03 where we learn the name of the Captain, Randall.


	8. Wager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the events of Stony Point in "Mended" but Anna's trip to NY hasn't happened yet.
> 
> As before, [words in brackets mean the section was coded in the diary, but for easier reading, the brackets are the only hint that they weren't written regularly.]

_From the diary of Mary Floyd_

 

February 20

Major Tallmadge is here in Connecticut. We went into town for supplies and noticed a large group of gray horses. Betsy shrieked and ran over to them. I went with her to keep an eye on her while mama, Kitty, and Nicky went into the store. I lifted Betsy up so she could stroke one of the horse’s manes and a soldier called out to me that I should step away.

I turned around so he could see Betsy and explained to him that my sister just really loves horses. He frowned and Betsy gave him her most irresistible ‘pretty please’ face. He bit his lip, sighed, and then told me to wait there. While we waited, I let Betsy stroke the horse’s mane again. She directed me to a different horse when I heard, “Miss Floyd?”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who had said my name, but I did.

 And there he was, black cloak over his uniform, Major Benjamin Tallmadge.

“Major! I…didn’t know you were in Connecticut.”

He frowned, his brows drawing together. He closed the distance between us. “I sent you a letter when I started my journey.”

I informed him that I had not received it. He allowed that things do go missing on the road.

We stood there awkwardly and Betsy turned around and said, “I want to pet the horsie!”

“Oh!” I recovered. “Uh, Major Tallmadge, this is my sister, Elizabeth. Betsy, this is Major Benjamin Tallmadge.”

Major Tallmadge reached out and took Betsy’s tiny mitten hands in his gloved ones and gently kissed the back of her hand. “Miss Elizabeth, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Betsy giggled. I spoke up, “Betsy really likes horses and she would like to –“

“Oh, of course.” He held out his hand as if to take hers and I set her down so she could. Little Betsy slipped her hand in his and I have never been so jealous of my baby sister. “Come, I’ll introduce you.” He patted the horse we had been next to and told her the horse’s name and that the horse preferred – actually, I forget what the horse preferred, apples or sugar or one of those normal horse things.

Then he led us to one horse and said, “Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, might I introduce you to a very special friend of mine? This here,” he patted a horse. “This is Highlander, my horse. Highlander, this is Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary Floyd.” He turned to Betsy and said, “Would you care for a short ride?”

“Can I?!” she shrieked at me.

I hid my wince and smiled. “May I,” I corrected.

“He asked _me_!”

“The correct way to ask is ‘may I’, Bets.” She understood then and re-asked her question. I gave her permission and he helped her up onto Highlander. We walked around a bit with the major holding the reins and he kept an eye on her.

“Thank you for the book,” he said as we turned to head back to the rest of the horses. He had already thanked me for it in a letter and I reminded him of that. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “Still, I have enjoyed it. I – oh! Betsy, thank you for the picture you drew.”

“What picture?” Betsy asked.

I flushed, horrified. Would he think that I had stolen a picture of Betsy’s to send him as a way to – no, even writing it is stupid.

We returned to the horses and he helped Betsy down from Highlander.

Mr. Wadsworth and my family were there. Mama looked relieved when we approached and Mr. Wadsworth gave Major Tallmadge a look before he introduced my family to the major. Nicky informed Mr. Wadsworth that we had met previously and asked the major how he was. The major responded he was well and greeted my mother. After explaining that notice of his arrival must have been lost on the road, mama invited him over for supper the following night.

Major Benjamin Tallmadge is coming to dinner tomorrow night.

 

February 21

Benjamin has just left and I cannot sleep. He invited us to visit the training grounds where his men will winter – or most of them. With Nicky, he discussed the financial difficulties following Congress’s recall of the bills and how he had to use friends’ credit to procure supplies.

We are going to the training grounds tomorrow.

 

February 22

Oh, what a whirlwind – I can scarcely put the past days into words. Clearly that is evidenced by how little I wrote yesterday.

At the training ground, they were breaking horses and a soldier was pleased to answer all of Betsy’s questions. Kitty stayed with them and I believe the soldier found her quite enchanting.

Nicky went to talk to another soldier about the weapons and that left me alone with Benjamin.

We walked on the grounds until we came to Highlander. I picked up an apple from the barrel and held it out to him. The horse took it from my hands and I commented he looked as if he could be very fast.

“Indeed,” Benjamin agreed. “That’s an important aspect for all horses in our army, as I’m sure you can understand why.”

I stroked Highlander’s nose and Benjamin watched me. “…would you fancy a race?” I offered.

He thought it over. “Would you prefer your own horse or would you care to try one of mine?”

“I can ride Midnight.” We unhitched Midnight and discussed the starting and ending points of the race.

“Shall we make a wager?” Benjamin asked after we had established the parameters and mounted our steeds.

“For?” I asked.

“Well, if I win…a 32-36-16-16?”

I knew not what to do or what to say! How I managed to remain calm, I do not know. “And if I win?” I asked. I didn’t look at him but I thought I heard disappointment in his voice when he told me I could request anything in his purview. I requested I be allowed to wait until later to decide what my prize would be if I won. He agreed and we raced.

As we neared the finish, we were neck-and-neck but I saw him pull back on the reins so I finished first. He let me win. I stopped my steed and waited for him to stop next to me. He did so and acknowledged my win.

I glared at him and he recoiled. “You let me win,” I snapped.

His face fell. “Yes, I did…I believed you were offended by my wager but did not wish to withdraw from the race.”

It all made sense to me and I dismounted. He followed suit. “I have decided on my winnings.”

Benjamin nodded. “And what would you like?”

[“For you to kiss me.”

His smile threatened to split his face. He cupped my face in his hands and pressed his mouth to mine.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: 32-36-16-16 = kiss
> 
> Ok, here's where I start really messing with the show's timeline. "Mended" presents   
> Anna's trip to see Hewlett as if it takes place at the same time Ben and Caleb take Stony Point, but I'm delaying Anna's trip.
> 
> I've opted to call Ben's horse "Highlander" in nod to Selene Castrovilla's "By the Sword", a children's book that depicts Ben during the battle and retreat from New York. She selected to call his horse "Highlander" because in his memoirs, he mentions a gray horse named Highlander who is named for a horse Tallmadge had earlier. She reasoned that since it was a gray horse and Ben's troop had gray horses, that it was plausible this horse was named after the one Ben rode during the war. I think that's a great idea. And you should all totally read the book if you get a chance, it's cute. She also has a book on the Culper Ring, "Upon Secrecy". 
> 
> Also, Mr. Wadsworth is Jeremiah Wadsworth. Tallmadge stayed at his house during the winter. Previously, Wadsworth had served as general of the commissary but retired. He had a flair for business, becoming very wealthy by the end of the Revolution. Tallmadge relied on him for help in obtaining supplies and payments for the dragoons. Tallmadge would eventually name a child after him: Harriet Wadsworth Tallmadge.


	9. Birthday

Following his fruitless meeting with creditors, Ben rode to the Floyds’ house. Upon arrival, a middle aged black woman answered the door and let him inside with instructions to wait in the entry hall. Ben glanced around; the house was sparsely decorated. It made sense given Mrs. Floyd’s account of how they had fled Long Island and taken very few things. The house, he understood, was not theirs, but that of a friend who had traveled south for a warmer climate for his ailing wife. Whether the Floyds had rearranged things per their comforts and liking or the previous family had taken things with them, Ben could not say.

“Major Tallmadge,” Mary greeted him and then addressed the servant. “Thank you, Rebecca, would you kindly bring us some refreshments to the sitting room?” Rebecca left them and Mary led Ben to the sitting room where they took their seats. Ben glanced at the title of the book Mary picked up to mark her place and set aside.

“ _Romeo and Juliet_ , a favorite of yours?”

Mary chuckled. “No, I prefer The Merchant of Venice, I dislike how Romeo and Juliet’s ending relies on characters not speaking with each other. Indeed, if either of them had waited just a few more minutes, they could have been happy together.”

“I disagree,” Ben set his helmet aside and leaned forward. “They would still have the problem of their families’ hatred. It’s their death that ends the feud.” 

“So you contend that the ending of a pointless squabble is worth their potential happiness? And, why couldn’t their love in life reconcile the families? Is the end result of either death or running away together not the same? They are both together, just that one offers a greater chance at happiness.” 

“I didn’t – no, I don’t think – you misunderstand me. The play is more a story of the feud than it is the romance of the two. Therefore the goal is ending the fighting and not marital bliss.”

“I don’t see why it couldn’t be both or why the focus on the feud means two characters have to die.”

Ben shrugged. “You’ll have to take that up with Mr. Shakespeare, not me.”

“Either way, I’m rereading certain scenes in preparation for tomorrow night. My friend Prudence insists that the best character is Benvolio.”

“Alas that love, so gentle in his view/Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof,” Ben quoted.

Rebecca entered with hot chocolate and some tarts. She set it before them and left.

“You disagree with her?” Ben asked as Mary passed him a cup of chocolate and offered him some of the tarts.

“Not precisely,” Mary sipped her own chocolate. “I think she confused Benvolio and Mercutio. She attributed a quotation to him that I believe was not his.” Ben nodded. “Now, I doubt you came here to ask my opinions on Mr. Shakespeare, what can I do for you?”

He suddenly became interested in the cuff of his sleeve and a stain on it. Rubbing at the stain, he cleared his throat. “Um, did you receive Jeremiah’s – Mr. Wadsworth’s invitation to a dance tomorrow evening?”

“We did,” Mary reached out and touched his sleeve. “Benjamin, is everything all right?”

“I wanted to – that is, if you’re planning to attend…would you kindly reserve a few dances for me? And…sit next to me at the dinner?”

“I would be delighted,” Mary agreed.

 

* * *

 

_Mary’s diary_

 

February 25

_morning_

Mama and Kitty returned from Mrs. Bernard’s yesterday hours after Benjamin left. Mrs. Bernard had a daughter! Her name is Charlotte, which was Kitty’s suggestion. Apparently she is the most darling thing Kitty has ever seen, which will change as soon as another baby is born.

I told her about Benjamin’s invitation while we cooked under Rebecca’s watchful eye. Kitty thinks he’s sweet on me – she doesn’t know what happened following our race. But she reminded me that I need to be careful about this – mama’s health declined once we went to war. Some days she stays in bed all day and other days I see her put her hand over her heart and though she doesn’t complain, I know it troubles her.

If one or both of us were to marry a soldier, mama should fret all the more.

I’ll write more after the ball, as of now I must help Kitty dress and style her hair before she helps me do the same.

 

February 26

I meant to write but Kitty and I talked until we fell asleep instead.

Now, about the ball:

I wore my blue dress with the cream trim and Kitty wore a dark green one she had sewn after seeing Mrs. Washington’s dress at General Arnold’s. When we arrived, the Wadsworths greeted us and since I didn’t see Benjamin, I went to Prudence’s side. (I completely forgot to discuss Benvolio and Mercutio with her! Oh heavens!) She was talking with this very burly young man and she introduced him as Caleb Brewster. “Mr. Brewster was entertaining me with a tall tale –“

“Oi! It’s no tall tale, I did it!”

“He insists he sailed into New York harbor in a…what did you call it?”

“Submersible,” he grinned and then kindly explained to me what it was. Apparently a submersible is a ship that can go underwater completely for long periods of time and not be considered a shipwreck. I jest, apparently that is its goal: to move undetected by traveling under the water’s surface.

“A spy ship,” I suggested.

“Precisely,” Benjamin joined us then and Mr. Brewster clapped him hard on the back.

“Tell ‘em, Ben, he can vouch for me, ladies.”

“I cannot vouch for you, Caleb, I don’t know what sort of stunt you’re trying to entangle me in this time.”

Mr. Brewster scoffed. “Tell them I went into the New York harbor in the _Turtle_.”

“It’s called the _Turtle_?” Prudence snickered.

“It was,” Benjamin confirmed sadly. “But he destroyed it so the redcoats wouldn’t get their hands on it.”

Prudence and I exchanged a look. “Most fitting that you provide a tall tale without any evidence and claim the evidence was destroyed by your own hand and for good reason. Now, were I to make so bold a claim, I dare say I should never be allowed out in society again.”

Benjamin smiled, “Trust me, miss, there’s more than enough reason to lock Lt. Brewster away, but he keeps breaking free.” We laughed a bit and then Benjamin offered me his arm and asked for a dance.

We danced and so did Lt. Brewster and Prudence. For a few, Benjamin danced with a woman named Anna Strong, a friend of his from Setauket. He also danced with Kitty, Prudence, and a few other women.

At last dinner was served and he led me to the table. On our way, he leaned down to whisper to me, “Do you see Lt. Brewster and Mrs. Strong? What do you think they are discussing?”

I looked for them and found the two of them in whispers. “I know not and cannot hazard a guess as I have only just made their acquaintances. Do you suspect them of something?” My first guess was that he suspected they were having an affair. But I will admit here that I did not think it possible of Lt. Brewster to have an affair or even keep a secret, he seemed so completely honest and forthcoming. As for Mrs. Strong, I do not mean to cast dispersion upon her, but I gathered that she had suffered previously and could therefore keep a secret. We women have learned to bear our sorrows privately. Yet she could be a recent widow and her circle of society not think it appropriate to remarry so soon? Of this speculation, I was quickly cured.

“Of course I suspect them, that is my job. But I do not suspect something of a dangerous or insidious nature. They have been consulting with each other and Jeremiah since they arrived this morning and won’t tell me what it pertains. And…no, I’m sorry, I should not have asked you about this. I apologize,” he pulled out my chair and I sat. At his comment about his job, I wondered and quickly dismissed concerns that they might be discussing treason. Of course, we soon learned the reason for their chatter! 

Mrs. Strong sat next to me and we chatted through dinner. It turns out I know of her husband! Selah Strong! A congressional delegate once! He was imprisoned on the Jersey prison ship but was freed (she was vague on the circumstances) and joined the army. When I asked where he was, Benjamin asked me a question and I never got back to Mrs. Strong to have my question answered.

Prior to dessert, Mr. Wadsworth, Mrs. Strong, and Lt. Brewster conferred together and Benjamin watched them with a frown. Then they took their seats and dessert was served. Mr. Wadsworth stood and gently rapped for everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attendance this evening. I’m sure most of you believe it to be a chance to get to know the soldiers stationed here and that is part of it. However, tonight is much more special than a simple gathering. Tonight is about a dear friend. I’m sure most of you have met him, if not you’ve at least heard of him or his exploits. His most recent military victory comes from the takeover of Stony Point.” We clapped, except for Benjamin, who sat there staring at his wine glass. “It is with great pleasure that I introduce to you, Major Benjamin Tallmadge.” I turned to look at him, astonished. “Stand up, Ben,” Wadsworth ordered. Slowly, Benjamin pushed his chair back and rose. “Why tonight?” Wadsworth asked and then grabbed Benjamin’s arm as he started to sit back down. “Don’t you dare,” the crowd tittered. “Why tonight? After all, Stony Point was a little while ago. Well, tonight is the major’s birthday. So, I propose a toast!” He picked up his wine glass and held it out towards Benjamin. “To Benjamin Tallmadge, happy birthday and may you have many more.”

We picked up our glasses and toasted to him. This, I believed, explained Mrs. Strong’s, Lt. Brewster’s, and Mr. Wadsworth’s behavior! They were planning this toast! But no, it was not of this.

Benjamin cleared his throat, thanked us all, and then proposed his own toast. “To all who serve America and to the Revolution!

“The Revolution!” we chorused and again drank to it.

Benjamin sat down and picked up his fork to partake of the slice of cake. I leaned over to him and wished him a happy birthday. He thanked me. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday? I brought nothing for a present.”

“You came, you danced with me, that’s present enough.” I wanted to ask again why he hadn’t said anything but he asked me when my birthday is. I told him. He noted that he's approximately six years older than me. 

After dinner, we resumed dancing and eventually mama came over to collect us so we could go home. I said my farewells to Mrs. Strong and Benjamin. As we donned our cloaks, the door opened and a man covered in snow stepped in the house. “I apologize for being late,” he said when Mr. Wadsworth hurried over. Benjamin stood there, his mouth open, face pale. “Cursed snow stopped the carriage a ways back and the poor horse broke her leg on the ice. Walked the rest of the way.”

“Father?” Benjamin stepped towards the man.

 “Benny!” they embraced and I saw tears in Benjamin’s eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Benjamin’s voice broke.

 “You’re all I have left, Ben. I wouldn’t have missed this.”

“Told ya your real present would be here later,” Lt. Brewster laughed. “Hi, Reverend! Great to see you again.” This was the reason they had been conferring! 

“And you, Caleb. And you too, Mrs. Strong.”

Kitty’s yelling about something, I have to go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In reality, the capture of Stony Point took place in July of 1779 and was led by General Anthony Wayne. However the show presents it as being fairly recently following Thanksgiving and in the winter. 
> 
> Benjamin Tallmadge's date of birth is February 25, 1754. In 1780, he would have been 26. Mary Floyd was born on March 6, 1764. She was about 10 years younger than Tallmadge, but for purposes of the story, I have aged her a bit. 
> 
> The Floyds did indeed own slaves. *glares at them* Tallmadge did as well *glares at him too*. I took Rebecca's name from "A Portrait of William Floyd". That said, this Rebecca is purely fictional as I don't know anything about the real Rebecca other than her name and that she was a slave belonging to William Floyd.


	10. Departures

Near the end of March, Ben had said his farewells to his father and two letters arrived. The first was expected and arrived at breakfast. While Ben poured over Rivington’s _Gazette_ , Anna slowly unfolded the piece of paper that would send her either to New York or end all association with Major Hewlett forever. She had no idea what response she wanted and no one was aware of her trepidation as around her spoons scraped up porridge and glasses thumped lightly against the table. Anna read each word carefully before she finally handed the letter to Ben.

He didn’t notice it until it nudged the newspaper. Lifting it up, he expected to see one of the kids trying to get a response from him, but instead he saw the paper. He shot her an inquisitive look, but she just nodded at the letter. Ben folded the newspaper and set it next to his plate, then read Anna's letter.

 

_Mrs. Strong,_

_I received your letter and at long lengths debated how to respond. Enclosed is a pass to York City and a list of amenable boardinghouses. At whichever you choose; mention my name and they will accommodate you. Send me a note through the staff upon your arrival and I shall reply with a time and place for us to meet._

_Your humble servant,_

_Major Edmund Hewlett_

Ben checked the attached pass and list. Satisfied, he handed the letter back to Anna with a smile. She toyed with the paper throughout the remainder of breakfast.

After breakfast, the trio met in Ben’s room, where he shut the door and they moved away from it. It wasn’t that Ben suspected anyone of eavesdropping on them, but there was always the chance of someone accidentally overhearing them.

“I can’t do it, Ben,” Anna admitted, on the verge of tears once Ben caught Caleb up on the plan.

“ 'Course you can,” Caleb frowned. “You’ve got a pass, we’ve got some pounds so you can afford it, we’ll arrange transportation and you’re good to go!”

“No, I can’t…I don’t know if I can face Major Hewlett.”

Ben steadied himself and began to console her but Caleb cut him off. “All right, so don’t. You’ve got the pass, you don’t need to stay at any of these boardinghouses, it’ll be like you never got his letter.”

“Caleb!” Anna had no words for his suggestion.

Admittedly, Ben thought Caleb’s plan was pretty solid. It would be easy for Anna to avoid Hewlett in the city or claim she’d just arrived if they happened to bump into each other. Really, Hewlett had always been a means to an end in Ben’s mind. Anna’s engagement and near marriage to the man didn’t confuse him now as it had previously. If Anna didn’t believe herself capable of seeing Hewlett again, Caleb’s suggestion was perfect. But he knew from previous conversations why Anna could not do that. “It’s up to you, Anna. But I know you can do it. Think of what you’ve done for the cause already. Let me know how you decide.”

In the afternoon, a man brought Ben a letter. He looked at the address and saw the instruction of ‘ _to Major B. Tallmadge_ ’ and knew it wasn’t from either of the Culpers. The handwriting looked familiar with its clarity and the length of the tails on the end of the letters. Few of the letters with descenders had wide loops, most of them were closed. This reminded him of Washington’s script. However, the letters with the ascenders had open loops and seemed curlier and Washington tended to have fewer flourishes, unless he was in the mood.

Sackett would be proud of him, Ben thought as he finally opened the letter. Observation and analysis, he’d come a long way from the beginning of his intelligence career.

 

_Dear Major Tallmadge,_

_If it is agreeable to you, I shall be in Weathersfield within a night or two. I shall send word of my arrival and hope you will be willing to meet with me. I have a proposition for you from General Washington that he felt best delivered in person._

_Your obedient servant,_

_A. Ham_

 

Hamilton? Ben frowned at the letter. While not at all unusual for Hamilton to send letters out on behalf of the general, Ben hadn’t imagined Hamilton would contact him without Ben having sent a letter to Washington. He showed the letter to Caleb and then fed the letter to the flames. If Washington wanted Hamilton to deliver a message in person, evidence of the conversation should probably be avoided at all costs. The flames swallowed Hamilton’s physical words but they echoed in Ben’s mind all day and into the evening.

Anna approached him before bed and agreed to go to New York.

 

* * *

 

 

Anna departed following breakfast and Ben couldn’t tell who was more upset – Anna or the children. They clung to her for extra long hugs and Anna kissed the tops of their heads, uttering promises to write letters as she did so. Ben eventually intervened and helped Anna onto the wagon while Wadsworth held on to his youngest child. Anna thanked the Wadsworths for their hospitality and then Caleb drove away.

The only one of the Ring remaining, Ben headed off to the _Manage_. There he assisted with the horses and assigned the children hanging around to muck out the stalls and fill the troughs. Most of them were willing but some left. Those that left grumbled that if they wanted to do chores, they could have stayed home.

 Ben had a quick meeting with some of his men to check on what had been done and what needed to be addressed. To his dismay, one of the horses they had purchased had developed a fever. They had isolated the horse and were trying to determine the cause. Ben prayed it wouldn’t be too bad, the horses cost them dearly and they couldn’t afford to lose any of them. Just in case, though, he would keep Highlander as far away from the ill horse as possible.

Meeting adjourned, Ben headed for the horses they would be training. The trumpeter sat waiting, warming his fingers with his breath. The men were assembled with their gear, waiting for instructions. The course was set and when Ben arrived, he gave a list of the commands he wanted to the trumpeter. They went through the drills a few times before lunch.

Like previous days, Mary waited for Ben with lunch she’d brought. She sat waiting near one of the fires, reading as he approached. “Afternoon, Miss Floyd,” he greeted, removing his helmet.

“Afternoon,” she slipped a piece of paper between the pages to mark her spot. Then she picked up the basket she’d brought lunch in and began to unpack. She inquired as to where Caleb and Anna were.

“Oh, I should have said that right away – they’re on army business. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

She glanced at the food. “Then I hope you’re starving.”

Ben remembered times at college when he, Nathan, and Enoch would assemble a large quantity of food and go up to their room to study and eat. He couldn’t think of the Latin subjunctive without thinking of getting sick from eating too much gingerbread. “I’m sure we can find some hungry souls eager to finish anything we don’t eat.”

They ate and chatted until a rider approached. “Major Tallmadge?” he asked. Ben rose, dusted the crumbs from his coat, and accepted the letter the post rider had. Mary offered the rider some of the food and he gratefully accepted, praising her cooking through a mouthful of chicken. Then he addressed Ben, “I was told to wait for a reply.”

Ben had no paper or ink available at the moment, so he asked if a verbal reply would suffice. The rider said it would, so Ben read the letter and gave his reply. The rider repeated it and then left.

Ben returned to Mary’s side and sat back down, “Colonel Hamilton is coming to speak to me sometime this evening.”

“Colonel Hamilton! I – I’ve heard a bit about him, have you met him?”

“Indeed, he’s the General’s aide-de-camp, we often cross paths.”

“Is he anything like the stories about him?”

Ben laughed. “Depends on which stories you’ve heard. He’s very intelligent, quick witted, the General depends greatly upon him.”

“I’ve heard…that he’s Washington’s bastard,” she lowered her voice as if the rumors weren’t well known.

“If you saw the two of them next to each other, you’d dismiss that immediately. Of course, I’m not sure I want you to meet Hamilton.”

“Oh?”

“He’s quite popular with the ladies,” Ben grimaced.

“Why, Benjamin! Are you jealous?”

“No, absolutely not,” Ben flushed. “It’s that – ok…perhaps I am afraid you’d become enamored with him. I’ve met few ladies who aren’t.”

“And just how many ladies do you know around camp?”

Uncomfortable, Ben shifted in his seat and swallowed. “You are aware that there are women in camp, yes?” Mary acknowledged she was but countered that she didn’t think there were that many. “There are more than you think, some are there with their husbands – like my laundress, Mrs. Milford. Others work as nurses…but there are a fair amount there…to offer…other services…” 

Mary suddenly became preoccupied with arranging the leftovers in her basket. She mumbled something and Ben reached out to grab her hand. “What was that?” he asked.

She couldn’t look him in the face as she asked, “And…have you…partaken of their services?”

“No.”

Mary relaxed a bit, she was able to look him in the face, but she had a faint flush that was not from the cold.

“Though I am ashamed that … I suppose you might say I used the services of another woman –“

She stood up and her hand slid out of his. “I just remembered I promised mama I would look after Betsy. I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Mary,” Ben stood up also and grabbed her arm. “Wait, let me explain –“

“I really have to go,” she pulled away and he let her go. Once she was out of earshot, he cursed himself. She had not asked about that! Just about the camp women! He should have kept his fool mouth shut.

 

* * *

 

In the evening, Hamilton arrived when Ben put the finishing touches on a letter. One of Wadsworth’s servants led Hamilton up to Ben’s room and left. “Colonel,” Ben rose to greet him.

“Major, I hope you’re well.” Hamilton looked around the room. “I won’t belay this, His Excellency sent me ahead to request your company at West Point. General Washington, the Marquis de Lafayette, and I are headed to inspect the fort under General Arnold’s command. Apparently you had some reservations about Arnold’s tenor?”

“I merely commented that he seemed out of sorts, but I suppose that was because of the court martial.”

“Well the court martial’s been over for months now. His Excellency would like you to accompany us and give him your opinion on Arnold.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Ben didn’t want to come right out and say it, but he wished to stay in Connecticut. Not only because of the situation with Mary, but also because Anna would expect to find him here. If she had any news, staying put would allow him to hear it more quickly, something Washington always stressed over. 

“Most likely he is,” Hamilton agreed. “But why not confirm that?”

 

* * *

 

Nicoll Floyd heard Major Tallmadge’s voice when Rebecca answered the door and he went to handle it. He stepped outside onto the porch and shut the door behind him. Tallmadge stepped back, frowning. “Mr. Floyd…is Mary home?”

“She is,” Nicoll folded his arms over his chest. “But I don’t believe she wishes to see you.”

Tallmadge swallowed. “I depart for West Point in a few hours. I didn’t want to leave things without an explanation and apology –“

“Tell me, do you have any siblings?”

Tallmadge looked away, “I did.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, but you understand, then, why I won’t let you see her. The only way you may speak with her is if she agrees.”

“Then ask her, please.” 

Nicoll stepped back into the house and a few minutes later came back. “Sorry, not now.”

Tallmadge must have feared that was a possibility, for he reached into his pocket and produced a letter. “Give this to her for me, then?”

Nicoll accepted it. “Have a safe trip.”

“Thank you. Give my regards to your family.” Tallmadge walked to his horse, mounted, and rode off.

Nicoll entered the house and called, “Polly! Letter for you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all wave goodbye to the actual historical timeline, because it's going, going, gone now. 
> 
> Enoch was Nathan Hale's brother and apparently one night at Yale, the three of them got drunk and broke some windows. In his memoirs, Tallmadge excused this kind of action by saying that he already knew the subjects well enough he got bored. I'd like to explain it more accurately: he was 14 when he went to Yale, we're all familiar with how young teenagers, especially teen boys, act.


	11. Reconciliation and Plot

Dear Mary,

Please do me the courtesy and honor of reading through this letter in its entirety.

And please allow me to apologize profusely for any distress I caused you. I hope with all my soul that my admission did not lessen me in your eyes. I will understand, however, if it did.

I do wish to explain myself, though. I desire to be honest with you as often as possible, which is a great deal of why I confessed that I have been intimately acquainted with a woman. The circumstances might not be what you conjured in your thoughts.

Her name was Sarah Livingston and I met her shortly before we met. I was away on business for the general and an enemy soldier encountered me on my mission. This man and I were previously acquainted as he presented himself around a year ago at camp. A former deserter returned to provide intelligence to us and the soldier provided a ruse, which generated much distrust for the deserter. As such, the security around the soldier relaxed and he murdered my friend and mentor, Nathaniel Sackett. He died in my arms.

This soldier intended to take me prisoner, instead I managed to get away, but not before he shot me. I wandered until I lost consciousness. When I regained my senses, I saw Sarah Livingston praying over me after removing the ball. Not knowing if I were in enemy territory or not, I lied to her about who I was and my purpose on the road.

I learned that she had lied to me as well. She had told me her husband would be home soon, but had died a year prior. Unfortunately, he had been killed when some of our soldiers had gone out looking for food. Our men were starving but I make no excuse for their actions. I merely wish to point out the circumstances that led them to the farm and to the Livingstons.

I pray you have never and will never experience the agony of such a wound, but during the night, I became restless and desired to feel anything but the pain. She took pity on me and attempted to soothe me. I confess I let my body overrule my head and I put forth advances, which she accepted and reciprocated.

Come morning, she became distant and told me it was all because she had been lonely, that she missed her husband. I could not and I cannot let her take all the blame for our misconduct. I behaved inappropriately and rashly. She wanted me to leave, I asked her to come with me, to camp. It was then she declared her allegiance to King George.

I left. She allowed me to leave and did not tell a soul she had harbored me.

If you worry she is a rival for my affections, do not worry so. I admired her adherence to her principles while also having mercy upon those who did not share her beliefs. I am indebted to her for saving my life. But she and I could never be.

Not long before the attack on Stony Point, she turned up in camp with loyalists who had attacked our men. In a hope to repay the debt I owed her, I did my best to secure a deal wherein she would spy for us. This was the only measure I could provide to secure her release – instead she refused. I left, both in hopes that time might convince her otherwise or that I might discover another way. While I was away, she struggled with another officer and was killed. I have my beliefs as to what occurred between the captain and Mrs. Livingston, yet I cannot prove them, the captain denies my allegations, and nothing can be done now to rectify this.

Again, please accept my apologies.

Yours,

Benjamin

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Benjamin,

I accept your apology, though it was not required. In truth, I only asked to tease and cannot explain my response. Let us not dwell on what happened.

I am glad, however, I went home to take care of Betsy. Mama was having chest pains again. Did I mention this before? Mama has a delicate constitution, which I fear was hurt by papa’s political actions.

Betsy wishes to know when you will return to Connecticut as she misses Highlander.

Yours,

Mary

* * *

 

_ The Connecticut Courant _

_Extract from General Orders_

 

> “Treason of the blackest dye was yesterday discovered! General Arnold who commanded at West Point, lost to every sentiment of honor, of public and private obligation, was about to deliver up that important Post into the hands of the enemy. Such an event must have given the American cause a deadly wound if not a fatal stab. Happily the treason has been timely discovered to prevent the fatal misfortune. The providential train of circumstances which led to it affords the most convincing proof that the Liberties of America are the object of divine Protection.
> 
> …
> 
> Arnold has made his escape to the Enemy but Mr. André the Adjutant General to the British Army who came out as a spy to negotiate the Business is our Prisoner.
> 
> His Excellency the commander in Chief has arrived at West-point from Harford and is no doubt taking the proper measures to unravel fully, so hellish a plot[1].”

 

* * *

 

Dear Benjamin,

The newspaper and gossip reports that General Arnold is a traitor! Though I read and reread the excerpt of the general orders, I cannot believe it! We attended a ball at his house in Philadelphia! How could a man so trusted by General Washington and Congress be a traitor? I pray this is a scheme concocted by our generals to trick the British in some fashion.

Nicky says you went to West Point when you left. Were you there when General Arnold was discovered? Did you have a hand in this?

Yours,

Mary

* * *

 

Dear Benjamin,

Papa has written to us and provided us a copy of General Washington’s letter regarding General Arnold. He also made note of a spy, a John Anderson or a John Andre – whichever his real name might be. Have you any contact with him? What sort of rogue is he? Dare I imagine him to be the one to turn the hero of Saratoga against us?

I worry as you have not written that you have been harmed or fallen ill.

Yours,

Mary

* * *

 

Dear Benjamin,

The papers report that John Andre was hanged. They make no mention of you and either you have not written or your letters have been lost on the road.

You are in my prayers every day.

Yours,

Mary

* * *

 

Dearest Mary,

Once again, I must beg your pardon. I have been delayed in writing largely due to Arnold’s defection ~~, the bastard~~.

I shall do my best to answer your questions here, but first allow me to tell you of my friend, Nathan Hale. We attended Yale together and were close. After college, letters from him staved off bouts of melancholy as I accustomed myself to teaching school in a foreign colony. Indeed I followed Nathan into the army but whereas after the battle of Brooklyn, I advanced in rank among the dragoons, Nathan elected to serve the cause as a spy.

I hope I do not need justify the actions of espionage in times of war. Villainous as spies are painted, Nathan could never have been such a rogue. He was a man of honor, a man I am proud to call my friend. I loved him. I know he chose to go behind enemy lines to serve our country, to serve us all.

Perhaps you know how Nathan’s story ends. He was caught and hanged. I shall not see my dear Pythias in this life again.

I journeyed with the General to West Point where we stayed with Arnold and his wife. All seemed well, though Arnold received a letter which he read aloud to us, scoffed at its contents, and fed it to the flames. I believed then that it contained intelligence necessary to us and am certain of it now, no matter that it cannot be read. During the night we heard the sounds of cannons, which Arnold dismissed and begged us wait for Col. Jameson’s report.

Arnold left us and His Excellency gave me permission to ride to Jameson’s post to see what had transpired in the night. There I encountered three men who demanded to know if I was there to pay them. I had no reply for them, so stepped inside to introduce myself to the colonel. He was with a man whose feet were bare save his stockings. Jameson gave me an account of how this man, John Anderson, came to be at the post. Anderson, as he was calling himself, apparently had incriminating documents on his person, but a pass signed in Arnold’s hand. I noticed the men who’d demanded payment and realized one of them wore a pair of British officers’ boots.

I confess I left “Anderson” in the care of Jameson and rode for the General. I rode until I saw Arnold departing on a ship. I fired my pistol but missed. I fired in anger and am simultaneously relieved I missed and furious at myself for my failure!

John Anderson revealed to us after he realized we knew what he was that his name was John Andre.

Mary, this man and I had danced around each other masked for so long! He was my counterpart on the British side. He knew my name – he told me later that he knew his cover had been destroyed once I said my name to the colonel. Strange to put a face to this man now in such a circumstance, I cannot explain it. In my mind he was older, ruthless – instead I found a refined gentleman closer to my age. We were able to discuss many things: literature, music, politics, and furiously, my personal acquaintances!

Two of those are dead. The first being Nathan. Andre asked me what would happen to him and I recounted my beloved friend. The other was my mentor, Nathaniel Sackett, whom I mentioned to you in a previous letter. It was on Andre’s orders that the solider entered our camp and because of those orders that Sackett died.

The last and most infuriating, was you.

Yes, your name was known to him. He apologized to me that my letter to you – the one announcing my arrival in Connecticut – had fallen into his hands. His agents had captured our post and he had read it in hopes of learning army plans! In explanation as to why it had not been immediately resealed and sent, he told me that he believed enough time had passed that I had arrived and you must have known of my presence!

I am ashamed that I grew to enjoy his company and before he was hanged, we shook hands. He served his country and his beliefs and I see that he was an honorable man to his death.

To end this letter filled with anger and sadness, I think fondly of our race. I wish you were able to recall, as I am, the rosy hue of your cheeks – from the cold? The exhilaration of the race? The anticipation? I know not – before I touched my lips to yours. It echoed the time you lent your aid to me. I shall always think you the most fondly when your cheeks are flamed.

Affectionately,

Benjamin

* * *

 

The damned housekeeper never returned after departing to deliver Major Andre’s uniform. Since she had been allowed to take her son with her, Arnold would bet anything that she had decided they would run to Canada and freedom. In the interim, Arnold needed to remove Andre’s papers to make room for his own, and so he had to go through them with one of Clinton’s aides. Any military related matters went to Clinton; personal papers would be stored until the proper recipient could be located. Receipts and other ephemera could be discarded in the fire.

At no point did he encounter any letters between Peggy and Andre, but he did find his correspondence locked away in the desk. Most of the letters could be immediately handed to the aide, but there came a letter written in a familiar script. He read the recipient’s name and while familiar, he couldn’t place it. Arnold opened the letter.

_Dear Miss Floyd, I depart for Connecticut within the hour and expect to arrive near the 20 th of February. I look forward to seeing you again – after all these letters, I eagerly await hearing your voice and seeing your face. I shall stay with my friend Jeremiah Wadsworth in Wethersfield, not too far from your home. Aside from general military business, I believe my days shall be largely available for socializing. Wadsworth has promised a dance or two – would you care to attend? I believe you enjoyed yourself at General Arnold’s, but perhaps that was a result from being in Philadelphia and seeing your father once again. Your humble servant, Benj. Tallmadge_

Floyd…Philadelphia…the ball at Penn Mansion…

_“Welcome to Penn Mansion,” Peggy greeted the family as they stepped inside._

_“General Arnold, an honor to meet you. I’m William Floyd, this is my wife Hannah, my son Nicoll, and my daughters, Mary and Catherine.”_

Arnold folded the letter and decided to keep it. A thought percolated in his brain that perhaps Tallmadge had been on to the plot since Philadelphia. It was at Penn Mansion that he’d insulted Arnold to his face. And why else would Washington have brought his intelligence officer? Tallmadge, then, was the reason Arnold had failed to deliver West Point, failed to deliver General Washington, and failed the glory and honor of being the one to end the war!

That also placed the blame for Andre’s capture, imprisonment, and execution at Tallmadge’s feet.

They had been undone by an upstart Yale boy from nowhere with grand designs for himself, starting with Arnold’s ruin.

Tallmadge had been scheduled to meet with him in Ridgefield, Connecticut but had disobeyed orders! At his apology, Arnold had dismissed it, but what if he’d been trying to usurp him from the start?! What if Benjamin were nothing like Samuel? Sometimes siblings were as different as night and day.

Benjamin Tallmadge had to be reckoned with and Arnold would do just that.

The following morning, the captain of the Rangers reported to the house in search of Major Andre. Arnold had the displeasure to inform him of Andre’s end. Captain Simcoe offered a shared misery at the loss of such a promising and capable officer. Then he promised that the British would punish Andre’s executioners once they crushed this rebellion.

“I have a plan,” Arnold announced. “To avenge Andre and to deal a deadly blow to the Continentals in one fell swoop. I know the officer responsible for Andre – the head of Washington’s intelligence.”

Simcoe perked up at that, “Who? What’s his name?”

“Major Benjamin Tallmadge.”

A fire ignited in Simcoe’s eyes. “If I may be of service in your plan, I beg you include me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] https://memory.loc.gov/cgi-bin/ampage?collId=mgw3&fileName=mgw3g/gwpage005.db&recNum=175 
> 
> Exactly what the Connecticut Courant printed about Arnold's defection, I do not know. 
> 
> Tallmadge and Hale did sign their letters to each other as "Damon" and "Pythias" as per the Greek myth. In the story, Pythias is accused of treason, he asks to be allowed to go get his affairs in order and leaves his friend Damon as...collateral. Pythias returns and the king was so impressed by their friendship he let them both go. Damon was how Tallmadge signed his letters and Pythias was Hale's sign off.


	12. Lost

Taking advantage of the weather, Mary decided to go for a walk. She slipped the unopened letter from Benjamin into her pocket and left the house with a cheerful wave to Kitty. The outdoors smelled of damp earth and opening flowers. She stopped to pick a few, thinking to include them in her next letter. She wandered along the path until it ended and left civilization for the woods. The birds flitted about the branches, watching her warily, as if she might steal their eggs. Squirrels and bunnies hurried away at the sound of her approach. Though winter had been delightful, Mary loved the springtime.

 She found a spot mostly clear of mud and sat down to read Benjamin’s letter. Two paragraphs in, she heard someone approaching and looked up. The man waved to her and called out a greeting. Politely, Mary returned it and wondered if she should put away her letter or keep reading. When the man drew closer, he asked if she happened to know a Nicoll Floyd. Mary acknowledged that he was her brother. “Oh, thank God…I’m afraid I’m a bit lost, but I was passing by and have a letter to deliver to him. Could you direct me to your house, miss?”

 Mary smiled obligingly, “I could take the letter to him, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no, thank you, miss. I was asked to make absolutely certain – with my own two eyes – that he received this letter. I thank you kindly, but if you could direct me or walk with me, that would be much preferable.”

Mary nodded and put Benjamin’s letter in her pocket with the flowers before she stood up. “What’s your name?” the man asked her. Mary told him. He smiled and introduced himself as James Browne. She fell into line with him and he held out his arm.

Within moments after taking his arm, a bunch of other men emerged from the woods. Mary noticed they all wore uniforms – but nothing like what the Continentals had. She tightened her grip on the man’s arm, hoping to warn him without speaking.

“Good job, Browne,” one of them stepped forward.

Mary’s stomach churned in realization - _he_ was one _of_ them. She dropped her hand from Browne’s arm and turned to flee but he caught her arm and held her tight as she struggled. “Now, now,” the man who’d spoken earlier approached her. “There’s no need to be afraid, we can be civil. Let’s go,” he addressed his men.

Mary opened her mouth, sucked in a quick breath, and then shrieked at the top of her lungs, “NICKY! NICK-“ one of the men grabbed her from behind and clapped his hand over her mouth. She bit him and instead of pulling away, he pushed his hand into the bite forcefully until she had to let go.

Their leader sighed and handed Browne a strip of cloth. “Now, miss, I didn’t want it to have to come to this, but you leave us no other choice.” Browne gagged her. The cloth tasted of soap, so at least it was clean, but there was also the slight taste of grease and gunpowder. She could smell it too and between those unpleasant senses and her rising fear, she almost choked.

They dragged her away to where they had stashed their horses. There their leader apologized, but bound her hands and feet, then with gentleman-like politeness, placed her on a horse. He mounted behind her and they rode away. She tried to think of ways to get away, but with her hands and feet bound, she knew she wouldn’t be able to run away after throwing herself off the horse. Besides, the man had his arms on either side of her as if in anticipation of her thoughts. She thought about leaving a small object behind, but could come up with nothing she could drop without being noticed. Besides, the place to have dropped something was back where they had grabbed her.

What would Benjamin do? She wondered how he would handle this, but of course Benjamin would be armed with a pistol, with a sword, with a knife – oh how she regretted returning that knife to him now!

 Tears threatened to fill her eyes but she forced herself not to cry. She could still get away. They were following the river; she could find her way back if need be.

What would her father advise her to do? Or Nicky?

_They’re not here,_ she reminded herself. She would have to figure this out on her own.

When they reached the bay, the soldiers dismounted and their leader helped her down. “Now, if you promise to be a good girl, I shall remove your gag.”

Mouth dry and her jaw aching, Mary nodded that she would follow instructions. She thought to double cross him, but her mouth was dry enough that she didn’t think she could summon a yell loud enough to attract help. And besides, she would need to see someone first – what if no one else was around? What if she screamed for nothing?

He removed her gag and then opened his canteen and placed it in her hands. Grateful, she took several swallows and then handed it back. “I don’t know what you hope for,” she rasped, “but you won’t get it. My father is not a rich man and his standing in Congress is not sufficient to end this war." 

The man smiled. “Oh, this has nothing to do with your family. But I do believe we have been long overdue for an introduction, my apologies on that. I am Captain John Graves Simcoe of his majesty’s rangers.”

“What do you want with me?” she asked. His men prepared their boats. Captain Simcoe opened his haversack and took out a bottle of ink, a quill, and some paper. He handed the quill and paper to her, which she took automatically. Puzzled, she looked over the paper as if it would have the answers. It was blank.

“I need you to sign your name,” he held out the opened bottle of ink.

“Why?”

“As evidence that you are in my custody, of course.”

Mary stared at the paper and debated about not signing it. She also debated about writing a message but could think of nothing to say nor how best to say it. He only needed her signature; anything else she might write could be torn off or crossed out. With a sigh, Mary dipped the quill in ink and braced the paper against her knee as she signed her name.

Finished, she handed both paper and quill to him. He studied her signature with satisfaction, placed the things away, and withdrew a knife. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. “I apologize for this, miss, but fear not, it shall not hurt.” She tried to back away but stumbled because of her bonds. He signaled to one of his men and the man caught her, removed her cap, and Simcoe cut off a lock of her hair.

He placed her hair on the page she had signed and added another sheet of paper – this one had more writing on it but she couldn’t read it – then folded it and took the time to seal the letter.

“Wyllys!” Simcoe called. A ranger hurried over and accepted the letter. He left and climbed into one of the boats, then began to row away from the shore.

“What do you want with me?” Mary asked again. “If you don’t want money and you know my father can’t end the war…” 

Simcoe smirked. “I understand you were reading a letter before Browne interrupted you, from whom?”

“A friend,” Mary couldn’t see what her letter had to do with this.

Simcoe nodded to the man holding her and he stuck his hand into her pocket – ignoring her protests – and retrieved the letter, scattering the flowers she’d picked on the ground. Simcoe took the letter, opened it, and showed it to her. “Who wrote this?”

Rhetorical question, he’d seen the signature, he knew she knew, so Mary just gave him a pointed stare. “Major Benjamin Tallmadge of Setauket, Washington’s chief of intelligence,” he looked over the letter, scanning it and Mary flushed. Then her heart sped up, wondering if Benjamin might have written anything that would tip Simcoe off that _she_ had once served as a spy. “And apparently, you have won his heart,” he returned the letter to her.

“So this is all just – you’re using me as bait for the major?” Mary scoffed. “You’re mad, this will never work.”

“I think it will. The major and I have a history that tells me he will come rescue you. Now, come along, we have a ferry to catch.”

* * *

 Kitty was dipping candles when her mother walked in and asked if she’d seen Mary. “She got a letter from her major and went outside a while ago,” Kitty replied.

 “That was hours ago,” Mrs. Floyd reminded her daughter.

 “I’ve not seen her since,” Kitty didn’t know what to tell her mother.

 Her mother paused, then directed her to take Betsy and go look for Mary. Relieved to get away from the tedious task, Kitty happily left her mother to the candles. Hand in hand with Betsy, they went outside and checked all of the usual places. No one was in the garden; only Nicky was in the barn, any place suitable for reading one’s letters was empty. Deciding the only sure way to make sure she had checked everywhere meant invading Mary’s privacy, Kitty went back in the house and up to the room she shared with her sister.

 Mary had no idea that Kitty knew the location of Mary’s journal, but they shared a room and a bed, eventually Kitty had to find it. In Mary’s drawer, under the lavender filled sachet Kitty had given her for her birthday, were the major’s letters. Kitty rummaged around the rest of the drawer, but found nothing. Then she checked under Mary’s side of the bed, even lifting the mattress. Finally, she found it in the wardrobe, under a few pairs of shoes.

 She found nothing in there about plans to visit anyone but she did see a lot of numbers that made no sense. They weren’t arithmetic and they weren’t receipts.

 Giving up, Kitty went to her mother and told her that she couldn’t find Mary.

Mrs. Floyd pursed her lips. “Well,” she said, “she better be back in time for supper." 

* * *

They sailed until they reached a harbor where Mary knew ferries would take passengers to Long Island. She and her family had fled to Connecticut and took such a ferry. It might have been the same ferry, but at the time, all Mary had cared about was staying close to her family and not getting lost. She had not bothered to remember what the place looked like and the names had been unimportant.

 On the ferry, she’d sat and watched friendly territory and home disappear into the horizon. The wind whipped at her hair and stung her cheeks. A spring storm surely approached. She shivered but refused to admit that she needed anything from them. They offered her dried meat from their sacks, but she turned her nose up at it and pretended she was not hungry.

 It was dark by the time they reached Long Island and after a short ride, they came to a town with an inn. Two of the soldiers discussed how they’d like to go to Setauket but one grumbled that Simcoe had turned them into persona non grata there. Mary wished to go to Setauket. Benjamin was from there; she knew of some of the people there through her father’s connections – she could find an ally! Not only that - but if they knew Simcoe held her prisoner and they despised him, then they would surely aid her!

 But they went to a different town and Simcoe arranged for their housing at an inn.

 Just where would they stay? Where would she stay? Mary felt a twinge of hope at the idea. Propriety demanded that they not share a room with her; they were not her family by blood or marriage! A room to herself or even with other women would provide sufficient opportunity to escape! All she needed to do was claim a need for the toilet and she could hurry out of there!

 Simcoe ordered them to the inn and Mary began to plan. After leaving the inn, how would she get back home? She would have to cross over to Connecticut to get home, but there was Setauket nearby. If only she knew which direction! She supposed she could ask, maybe someone in her room would know!

 “What’ll we do with her, sir?” Browne asked, nodding at Mary. Mary was reminded of Grace, a girl she’d known back home before the revolution, and how much she had disliked her. It got so bad that even the way Grace laughed got on Mary’s nerves. Browne quickly beat Grace for most infuriating; she felt a flare of irritation at his needless gesture to her. She was the only woman in their company, Simcoe would understand just from the feminine pronoun!

 “I’ve arranged for her to stay in their cellar, it locks.” Mary’s shoulders drooped. Simcoe noticed. “Fret not, my dear, it is dry and you shall have blankets.”

 And that was how Mary found herself in the dark cellar, locked in, alone. She took out Benjamin’s letter and wished she could see well enough to read it. She’d not had the opportunity and desperately wanted to read it.

 Actually, she desperately wanted to be with Benjamin. She wished she were back at the manage: watching him ride his horse, train his men. She wished she were in his arms, that he was kissing her.

 Sitting with his letter, she remembered bringing books to the manage and alternating between reading passages to him and hearing him read passages to her. Once she’d brought Romeo & Juliet just to hear him read Romeo’s sweet words.

 “Sin from thy lips? Oh trespass sweetly urged. Give me my sin again,” he’d read and given her a smoldering look that kept her awake that night.

 Alone, locked in, and unable to flee, Mary finally allowed herself to cry. 

* * *

Nicoll, Mr. Phelps, Mr. Gilbert, and others from around carried torches and called out for Mary. Nicoll lifted his torch and peered off into the distance, wondering if he ought to have stayed with his mother. Mrs. Floyd had struggled to remain calm, her breathing erratic, pacing the room, and muttering to herself. The doctor had agreed to stay with her and keep her under watch in case her heart troubled her, but even so. “MARY!” Nicoll yelled. 

The other men searching echoed her name.

No response but the chirping of crickets came.

Nicoll didn’t want to admit it, but he was frightened. It was completely unlike Mary for her to wander off like this, for her not to be home on time. She had to be hurt.

_Or dead_.

 He squashed that thought. Mary was not dead. Mary would just have maybe broken her leg or gotten lost and just needed to be found. She would be alive and one day they would laugh at this. They would refer to this as the Great Incident of 80 and joke.

“MARY!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank my Long Islander friend for being so kind as to tell me (without prompting) about crossing the Sound, particularly about the ferries. They didn't make a huge appearance but they were helpful in figuring out timing!


	13. House Arrest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP: there is talk of menstruation. If you think this needs to be in the main tags, let me know.

Somehow, sometime in the night, Mary had managed to sleep. She knew this because Simcoe woke her up with enough cheer to convince her he was a sadist. The morning light blinded her and she squinted against its brightness. His hand on her elbow, Simcoe escorted her into the inn’s kitchen where the owner’s wife had set out a comb, basin of water, and mirror for her. Simcoe sat at the table and chatted with the help while Mary cleaned up, brushed her hair, and put it up. Checking the mirror, her eyes were drawn to the spot where Simcoe had cut her hair. She undid her hair and redid it. The spot was less visible but it was all she could focus on.

Having done the best she could, Mary asked, her face burning, if she could use the privy. Simcoe accompanied her and waited outside. Once the embarrassment of the situation faded some to annoyance, Mary found another reason for embarrassment and horror.

She poked her head outside the privy door and mumbled that she needed the innkeeper’s wife’s assistance.

Simcoe chortled. “My dear, you must have mistaken me for a simpleton. There is nothing here that would require assistance, you are not an infant.”

Face hot, mentally cursing Simcoe and the British to the depths of hell, Mary squared her shoulders and said, “It’s a woman’s trouble, sir, nothing that you would understand.” 

“Very well, let us go ask her.”

When she told Mrs. Ross that her monthly bleeding had come and she had nothing to aid her, Mrs. Ross smirked and said, “Good. No little rebel babies from a rebel whore.”

Tired of the embarrassment, sick of this whole ordeal, Mary snapped. “For your information, I am _no one’s_ whore. And even if I were, I would be proud to be my major’s whore because at least he’s fighting for what he believes in. He’s putting his life on the line every day for this country, for people’s rights. And what is your husband doing? Drinking out there with his guests while other people do hard work and these soldiers you stand in adoration of fight for your supposed safety when you’re barely in danger. But fine, I care not. But if you support the British army in anyway, then assist them by assisting me in not bleeding all over the place!”

Mrs. Ross went pale and her jaw went slack.

“Well you heard her,” Simcoe spoke. “Get her whatever she needs.”

Mrs. Ross fetched some rags and some black haw tea. She said she would give the tea to the other soldiers. Mary accepted the rags and went back out to the privy. Before she could open the door and go take care of herself, Simcoe put his hand out to keep the door shut. “You’re a remarkable woman, Miss Floyd. Tallmadge has excellent taste.”

Mary turned around. “I neither want nor require your respect. Now let me open the door.”

Simcoe smiled which made her shiver. He dropped his hand and she went inside.

 

* * *

 

They retrieved their horses from the stables and Mary asked why they hadn’t brought their horses to Connecticut and whose horses they had taken. Simcoe responded that it had been quicker to take the ferry without the horses, travel by boat (which they had rented at the port), and then acquire horses by stealing them from patriots. Mary figured he actually thought it was more fun to do it that way.

Once again, she rode with Simcoe. The warmth at her back felt nice after a while of riding when her stomach started to cramp. At one point she actually relaxed against him, hoping for more of the relief. Then her stomach turned completely unrelated to her monthly bleeding. She would not take comfort from this man.

Every now and then, she would look around, as if Benjamin would come riding out of the woods, pistol aimed for Simcoe, and demand her release. That hope was crushed when she took into account how many men Simcoe had with him. Benjamin would be outnumbered unless he brought some men. But she didn’t imagine anyone would give him permission to take a group of men to rescue her. Just hat justification would they have to send a group into such an enemy stronghold?

They passed into York City with ease. Simcoe and his rangers provided the password and presented documents regarding Mary’s presence. They were waved on through and let into the bustling city of New York.

There were soldiers everywhere Mary looked, it seemed. She couldn’t turn her head without seeing a redcoat. It was nothing like Philadelphia or at home when the soldiers retired for the winter. She might have hoped along the way that Benjamin would come rescue her, but now she did not! She hoped he stayed away – stayed safe.

Generals’ wives and officers’ ladies were usually off limits in war. She had no idea about intelligence officers’ family, friends, and…whatever she was to Benjamin. She really doubted that this was a sanctioned mission.

For some reason – legal, military code, something else – they left the horses at a stable. Simcoe helped her down and Mary looked around the crowds. The streets were busy enough that if she could find a time, she could escape. It wouldn’t take much to blend in or even appeal to another woman for help. She vowed to bolt at the nearest opportunity.

But then Simcoe ruined everything by shackling her wrists. There would be no way to blend in with those secured on her. There would be no aid to a prisoner – be it a military prisoner or regular prisoner. He must have thought of everything.

At first, Mary ducked her head in shame at the looks she received. But then she forced herself to lift her head and meet every gaze she encountered. She was William Floyd’s daughter and if anyone ought to be ashamed, her captors were the ones.

They walked a ways until they came to a very nice house. A middle-aged man opened the door and informed them that the general wasn’t home. He did allow them to come in and wait. Simcoe stationed his men around the house and then went inside with Mary.

The man led them to a sitting room and the housekeeper emerged a few moments later with tea and cake. Mary hadn’t eaten anything except a few biscuits from the inn on Long Island and so she eagerly accepted the cake. The servants, she reasoned, were blameless in this whole affair. They needed the employment, they certainly had no idea who she was or had any say in the planning of her abduction.

Mrs. Margaret Arnold entered the room and Mary nearly choked on her tea. Of all the homes in New York, of all the military personnel in the city – Mary had been taken to Benedict Arnold’s?!

Simcoe rose and introduced himself. Then Mrs. Arnold turned her attention to Mary. Mrs. Arnold’s head tilted slightly as she frowned. “Forgive me, I feel we’ve met before, but I cannot place you.” 

_Benjamin had taken her hands in his, removed her gloves, and she remembered the feel of his skin against hers._

_They had danced together._

“Penn Mansion, Philadelphia,” Mary informed her. “I’m Mary Floyd, William Floyd’s daughter.”

Mrs. Arnold sat down across from her. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but what brings you to the city?”

Mary nodded in Simcoe’s direction. “He abducted me.”

Mrs. Arnold could not hide the slight jump Mary’s words caused.

 

* * *

 

Kitty hurried over and spoke before Rebecca could even form a word. “Mr. Wadsworth! Did you find her?”

Mr. Wadsworth sighed sadly. “My dear, if I had, I would have brought her. We’ve looked all over Wethersfield to no avail. Where is your brother?”

“He’s out with the search party, they think perhaps Mary followed the river.”

Rebecca spoke up, “May I get you anything to eat or drink, sir?”

 Wadsworth asked for some cider and Kitty led him into the kitchen. She explained that her mother and Betsy were playing in the sitting room and she didn’t want to upset her mother. Mr. Wadsworth brushed that aside and placed a basket Kitty hadn’t noticed he’d been carrying on the kitchen table. “My wife sent this over for you; she figured you would not be of the mind to cook.”

Rebecca placed a mug of cider in front of him and took the basket after Kitty thanked him.

“Mr. Wadsworth, might I impose upon you a favor?” Kitty asked, her fingers traced the edge of the table. He took a drink and then encouraged her to ask. Kitty slipped two letters out of her pocket and slid them to him on the table. “I have written these, one is to my father, the other to Major Tallmadge. Mama and Nicky do not think it the right time to send anything…but I disagree. I can pay you for the postage –“ 

Wadsworth swept the letters up from the table and tucked them away inside his coat. “No payment necessary, my dear, none at all! Ben – Major Tallmadge is a good friend of mine and I have a letter for him myself. As for your father, he deserves to know. Should any of my children go missing – heaven forbid! - I would want to know immediately.”

He left and Kitty turned to Rebecca. The woman consulted the basket’s contents and the cupboards, arranging things. “Becky?” Kitty asked.

“Yes, miss?” Rebecca turned.

 “Do you think Polly’s still alive?”

Rebecca’s face hardened. “Please don’t make me speculate, miss, you don’t want all of us going to pieces in here, do you?”

 

* * *

 

Nicoll sat on his horse at the delta of the river and waited for the rest of the search party to show. They had followed the river with the idea that Mary might have followed it after becoming lost. He waited a while before everyone showed up but they all had the same results: no sign of Mary.

“There were horse tracks, though,” one man noted. “Around ten of them, seems a bit unusual to my way of thinking.”

“Horse thieves,” another man countered. “We stopped at two farms that reported their horses being stolen.”

Nicoll didn’t pay much attention to that until Mr. Phelps posed the theory that these thieves had come across Mary. Nicoll gripped the reins tighter. If brigands had taken Mary then there was no telling what sort of trouble she was facing. They could have killed her for witnessing their actions – and that would be merciful. They could have abducted her and made her work for them. Or even worse. “If they took her, we should try coordinating with anyone whose horse was stolen. It will widen our reach and add more eyes. At the very least, it cannot hurt.”

 

* * *

 

Arnold did not return soon. After about an hour had passed since their arrival, Mrs. Arnold allowed Simcoe and the butler to turn one of the servant’s rooms into a makeshift prison. They boarded up the windows and established guard rotations. The housekeeper gave her a basin of water, a small cloth, and a chamber pot. Mrs. Arnold provided two books and a copy of the day’s newspaper. Then Mary retired into the room.

On the positive sides, it was a nice room. It had a comfortable bed and a table with a chair. They had removed the candles, however, in fear that she would burn the house down in effort to escape. The only decoration was a small wooden ship. 

Mary picked it up and turned it over in her hands. It was quaint but not particularly well carved. On its prow it read “Cicero 1777”. The boat felt solid and Mary envisioned using it to strike a blow to Simcoe’s temple and run away. Then she imagined showing it to Betsy and sank down to the floor with it. “Look, Bets,” she said, as if her little sister really were in the room with her. Tears sprang to her eyes as a fresh wave of homesickness passed over her. Clearing her throat, she continued, “See this? This is called the mast,” she touched the mast and found it turned. “This is where the big sail goes. Whoever carved this,” she pulled the mast out and then replaced it. “Might have made a few of these, just in case one broke. Now this,” she turned the bowsprit. “Well, this we’ll have to ask papa or Nicky what it’s called. But this –“ she accidentally pulled it loose. She grimaced and turned the boat to get a better look. Unlike the mast, this appeared to have a small hole dug, as if it needed a wider space. Then she looked at the bowsprit and found the small piece of paper wrapped around its end. It probably needed to be a bit bigger in size to keep the pieces together, so she pulled the paper off. Mrs. Arnold had given her the newspaper so she could rip that apart to get a better fit for whoever owned this little ship.

When she unrolled the piece of paper to measure against the newsprint, she went cold.

> _Madam, the information you recently transmitted has come to my attention and I, in turn, relayed it to General Washington._

Benjamin’s handwriting. Mary closed her eyes and trembled. Though she didn’t need to, she took out his letter and compared the handwriting. It was his.

> _You may address your information to me under the name “John Bolton” or the number 721. Anything for Washington may be labeled 711._

The letter continued on in that manner. The numbers reminded Mary of her own diary’s code. She crushed the paper in her hand and wondered how to dispose of it. No matter who previously had this room – this madam, whoever she was – it could not stay here. If Mary had been able to find it, anyone could!

Putting her nerves aside, Mary measured Benjamin’s note against the newspaper, carefully tore the paper, and replaced the note with the news. Worried that someone might ask about the torn paper, Mary shredded the rest of it after finding an article that she could claim irritated her. She left the scraps on the table and tucked Ben’s note in the bodice of her dress.

Hours passed, which she spent first reading Benjamin’s letter, finally. Then she read some of the pages of one of the books provided to her. Other times she sat daydreaming about being home, feeling homesick, worrying over her family, or daydreaming about Benjamin coming to her rescue. Occasionally she would pull his letter to her and trace his signature.

The housekeeper dropped off some supper. The woman scowled at the mess of the paper, but tossed it in the chamber pot to clean out later. Then she left. Alone again, Mary retrieved the note from her bodice. Tearing it up into smaller pieces, she chewed them and swallowed some wine to help ease them down. She ate the rest of her dinner and eventually settled in to sleep.

Staring up at the ceiling, Mary thought of escape. While it was nice to think of Benjamin storming the city, the rational part of her hoped he would not come. She would have to escape by herself.

Near sleep, she heard the loud footsteps of a man, one who walked gracelessly and with the aid of a cane. She heard Simcoe’s voice but couldn’t understand the words he said, nor the words the man said. She imagined the man was Benedict Arnold.

 

* * *

 

 In bed together, Peggy faced away from Benedict. “You’re using her as bait,” she said flatly. “For Major Tallmadge.”

“Yes, this way we can avenge Andre, I’ve told you, my love. I’ve thought it all through.”

 Peggy gritted her teeth. “I don’t like it, Benedict. You yourself said Washington would not hurt a woman. No other officer has brought the wife and certainly not an acquaintance –“

 “She is not an acquaintance! I instructed Simcoe to learn just what their relationship is before proceeding. He learned that Tallmadge is infatuated with her, that it was well known she visited the Manage and they would share meals, attend dances together, he’s even kissed her! Besides, he’s a spy and spies cannot be dealt with as normal soldiers.”

 Peggy squeezed her eyes shut. John had been a spy – had been just like Tallmadge. But John would never have stooped to this level. “Promise me,” Peggy whispered. “Promise me that no harm will come to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black haw was used (and is still used in homeopathic remedies) for a variety of gynecological ailments like cramps or morning sickness or helping after childbirth. The bark would be turned into tea.
> 
> Generally speaking, wives were off limits during war. One British officer's wife sent Martha Washington a care package when she learned Mrs. Washington was ill. George Washington sent it back. However, Arnold seems to be the kind of guy to have a vindictive streak and he didn't always do things by the book (part of his reason for court martial).


	14. Plans

Day three of captivity, Mary thought when the housekeeper woke her up with breakfast. The woman sat it on the table and held up a newspaper. “The missus said to give this to you. If you’re gonna make a mess with it, at least clean it up yourself.” Mary blinked. “The missus also sent you these clothes and such,” she gestured to the chair where a pretty yellow skirt and white shirt were laid.

“Thank you,” Mary’s voice was thick with sleep. “I didn’t hear your name, ma’am.”

The housekeeper scowled. “I’m Mrs. Griswold.”

“I’m Mary Floyd,” Mary introduced herself. Mrs. Griswold left, muttering something unintelligible.

Mary slid out from under the covers and went over to the table. She glanced at the food and then picked up the clothes. Draping them over herself, she found that they were close enough in size. Did Mrs. Arnold buy them for her or were they Mrs. Arnold’s? Either way, she was pleased. The housekeeper or Mrs. Arnold had also included some cloths for her personal care.

It was nice to change clothes; she felt less like a prisoner and more like a guest. After changing and breakfast, she read the paper. She finished it and set it aside.

A tiny room and her only options for activities were limited to reading from either of two unread books.

She settled in to read and had made a bit of progress when there was a knock on her door. Confusion settled over her – could she deny entry into this room? If she said nothing, would they come in anyway? If she said go away, would they listen to her wishes?

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. During her internal debate, the door opened and Mrs. Arnold stepped inside. Mary stayed where she was. “Good morning, I thought perhaps you might like to join me for a walk around the house?” Mary didn’t know what to say. If she turned it down, what would she do for the remainder of her time? She wanted to say no out of spite, as well. Wife of a traitor –

But just what role had Mrs. Arnold played? What if she had been a victim to her husband’s politics? It wasn’t as if women had any real say…but they did have influence. Mary had no idea what to make of this woman.

She did, however, know what to make of the room.

Mary accepted the invitation.

The ranger left to guard her did not look pleased as he followed them around the house. Mrs. Arnold showed her around the house, highlighting paintings and artifacts they had kept after the previous owner left. Mary inquired as to who the previous owner had been. Mrs. Arnold seemed sad when she named Major John Andre – the man hanged. They passed an office with neat bookshelves and a desk covered with papers. Mrs. Arnold frowned at that, apologized for the mess, and explained that they had taken care of Major Andre’s things but her husband was fairly busy. Mary scowled at the mere mention of Benedict Arnold. 

Instead she pointed out the violin. “Do you play?” she asked Mrs. Arnold.

“No, not I. Do you?”

Mary shook her head. “No but I do enjoy music.”

“As do I – have you heard any of Mr. Mozart’s music?”

Biting her lip, Mary admitted that she did not know. Mrs. Arnold showed her some of the sheet music from that composer. Mary couldn’t read it but Mrs. Arnold evidently could; she sang a bit of it. Both the music and the woman’s voice were very pretty. Mary confessed she would like to learn how to read music, so Mrs. Arnold sat her down and began to explain how to read it.

By the time Mary learned how to tell a few notes, Benedict Arnold walked in. He froze when he saw them and Mary at him. He held a cane in one hand that he didn’t even touch to the floor. “Ah, Benedict,” Mrs. Arnold smiled. “Allow me to introduce Miss Mary Floyd.”

Arnold inclined his head politely. “Mary, this is my husband, Benedict Arnold.”

“We met before, at my house in Philadelphia,” Arnold reminded her. “Back in November –“

Mary said nothing; she turned her attention back to the music. She counted the quarter notes and the half notes.

“I hope you’re comfortable here,” Arnold tried again. Mrs. Arnold looked between her husband and Mary. Mary recounted the notes. Arnold repeated himself.

Unable to avoid him any longer, Mary turned to face him. “How can I be comfortable? I’m a prisoner.” He stepped forward and Mary scooted back to keep as much distance as he could. “Not only that,” she continued. “I’m _your_ prisoner. You – a _traitor_. Your act of treason – had it been successful – would have cost my father his life. And you bring me here as part of a trap for a man worth hundreds of you. So how exactly am I supposed to be comfortable?”

 Arnold’s face reddened with each word. He glowered at her and stomped over. Mrs. Arnold jumped up and put herself between Mary and her husband. “Benedict –“ he pushed her to the side gently but firmly.

 “Listen here, miss – you are here in relative comfort because of my wishes. I could have you hanged as a spy –“ 

Mary swallowed. “On what grounds?” she challenged with more strength in her voice than she felt.

“Whose word do you think they’ll take? Yours? The daughter of a known rebel or me? A war hero –“

“A traitor,” Mary spat.

“Benedict!” Mrs. Arnold yelled in warning.

The slap across her face made her gasp and clutch her hand to her cheek. The blow stung and tears filled her eyes. One fell before she could stop herself, but she didn’t bother to wipe it. Mrs. Arnold hurried to her side and grabbed her by the elbow. With the ranger not far behind, Mrs. Arnold walked Mary back to her room. She spoke in low tones about how they would try tomorrow, that she would send any books she thought Mary might like as well as a quill, some paper, and ink to Mary’s room.

 

* * *

 

The courier stopped by Anna’s wagon. He knocked and Anna answered. “Looking for Major Tallmadge?”

 Anna shook her head. “He’s not here, uh…he’s on assignment.”

The courier frowned. “Could I trust you to get this to him when he returns?”

“Of course,” Anna held her hand out and accepted the letter. The courier walked off to finish his tasks and Anna glanced at the address. She didn’t recognize the handwriting but that meant nothing.

She tucked it away for when Ben came back.

 

* * *

 

Furious, Benedict Arnold turned to Peggy to demand why Miss Floyd had been outside of her room. Knowing her husband needed to be soothed, insults cut him quicker than a sword and never fully healed, Peggy closed the distance between them. She took his hands in hers and kissed him gently on the lips. He barely had time to react before she broke off the kiss and gently said his name. “You have to remember, she is not your guest. Have you never tried to approach a frightened dog? It puffs up, growls, and bares its teeth. If you want her to treat you respectfully, you must teach her you mean her no harm.”

“But she –“

“She was abducted from her home and is in a city populated with people who would hang her father for treason. Remember that.”

Benedict sighed. Peggy left him to his work.

In her room, Peggy shut the door and went over to her dresser. Near where she kept John’s braid, she also had assembled a small amount of money. The Continental dollars had been worthless, but she had kept the British pounds that she’d had when they’d occupied Philadelphia. Taking the money out of the drawer, she counted out some of it, mentally tabulating the costs of things.

The rest of the day went normally for Peggy. If not for the plans forming in her mind, she would have been able to forget about the prisoner in her house.

The next day, Peggy requested that they stay in Mary’s room. Mary agreed, not at all eager to meet with Benedict again. Peggy had another chair brought in for her and then she shut the door. The ranger started to object, but Peggy brushed his fears aside laughingly. Producing a deck of cards, Peggy proposed a game.

Again, Mary was amenable to those plans. “May I ask a question?” Mary asked while Peggy dealt. 

“Of course!” Peggy tossed more cards to the side, as they would be playing two hands each.

Mary nodded towards the carved ship. “Who’s Cicero?”

Peggy glanced at the ship and smiled sadly. “You remember how I told you that Major John Andre lived here before us? Well, he had a servant named Abigail and her son’s name was Cicero. This was Abigail’s room.”

They looked at their cards and began to play. “So where is Abigail now?”

Peggy had no good answer for that. “I don’t know, I imagine she ran off to Canada.”

They played a bit and then Peggy spoke, “Now, may I ask you a question?” Mary stiffened. “I’m not asking at anyone’s behest, I swear. It’s personal curiosity.” In response, Mary merely blinked. Peggy could tell that she didn’t want to commit to answering until she had heard the question. John would have admired her. Perhaps, if the roles were reversed, if Major Tallmadge were head of British intelligence and John Washington’s spy chief, then John would have fallen in love with Mary. They were not interchangeable, but Peggy hoped that Mary would see they were equal. “Did Major Tallmadge tell you anything about me?”

Shock traveled over Mary’s face and then faded into concern. “No, why would he?”

Peggy placed her cards upside down on the table and removed a piece of paper she had hidden under her skirts. It was the self-portrait John had made of himself the day he was hanged. She passed the paper over to Mary and Mary studied it. “That is Major John Andre.”

“And these eyes?” Mary asked, turning the paper so Peggy could see the drawing. “They…don’t seem like a man’s eyes.”

“They’re mine,” Peggy confessed. None of this answered any of Mary’s questions, Peggy knew that. “John and I were friends, we met when he lived in Philadelphia.”

Something clicked in Mary’s mind and she stood up abruptly, flung her cards on the table, and walked to the boarded window. “So that is how General Arnold contacted this spy – through you. You’re the reason –“ 

“I’m the reason Benedict is here and Andre is not, yes,” Peggy cut her off. “And I do not want to watch you go through the same process.” She kept her voice low. “As long as you’re here, Major Tallmadge is going to come here. You will lose your friend and you will end up somewhere you don’t wish to be. In my case, I am not at home with my friends. In yours, it will likely end with your father’s death, your family being destitute –“ 

“Why are you telling me this?” Mary interrupted. “I’m not telling you anything and I don’t apologize for how I addressed your husband –“

With a huff, Peggy produced the money she had counted out the day before. She set it on the table and Mary fell silent. Peggy got up from the table and went over to Mary. Keeping her voice low, she told her, “Major Tallmadge discovered my role in this and he forgave me. If he can forgive me, so can you. He told no one of what I had done and he let me go. I’m returning the favor. I have a plan to get you out of here. Are you willing to trust me?”

Mary looked away and chewed on her bottom lip.

“Do you love Major Tallmadge?” Peggy asked.

At this, Mary had a response. “I do.”

Peggy nodded. “Then at least listen to my plan. If you object to it or any part of it, we can adjust.” Mary still did not look convinced. “We fell in love with spies, but men aren’t the only ones capable of deception.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as Ben returned to camp, Captain Casey informed him that there were prisoners to interrogate. Ben thanked him and told him he’d be there as soon as his horse was taken care of. Though their dispute had happened several months ago, he still didn’t trust the man. He asked Caleb to fetch Anna in case there were any women prisoners. He had started asking various women in the camp to come supervise since Sarah’s death if there were any women. When asked about it, Ben replied that it was about getting the women to open up, to be honest, they were likely to be less guarded around other women. Most bought that excuse but Ben _knew_ Casey didn’t. But since the generals and other superior officers accepted it, Casey couldn’t make a fuss.

Anna joined him and gave him a few letters that had arrived while he’d been off on assignment. He flipped through them, but no letter from Mary. There was a letter from Jeremiah, but the others were from unfamiliar sources.

He tucked them away for later reading.

The interrogations went well and there were no women, so Anna went back to chat with Caleb.

The three of them were enjoying dinner by the fire and Ben opened the letter from Jeremiah. All seemed well, the children passed along their greetings, not just to Ben but to Anna and Caleb as well. They missed having them at their house and hoped that they would visit next winter. The rest of the letter went on in a similar vein but then he reached the postscript.

 

_Miss Floyd has gone missing. Her family has searched around her house and town, and then came approaching other towns, including Wethersfield. We went out searching but found nothing. I know you are fond of her and wished to inform you. I shall keep you updated as the search progresses._

_I do know that elopement with a certain major was suspected – to which I say, if you eloped and lacked the courtesy to tell me of it, I am sorely disappointed in you. You call yourself my friend and yet do not include me in secret romantic plots?_

 

Ben swallowed dryly and stared at the words.

_Gone missing._

People didn’t just go missing! Something had to happen to her!

He left the fire and ignored Anna and Caleb’s queries.

After several minutes of worry and attempts to come up with things he could do to help the search, he realized there was nothing. He would not be given leave to go look for a woman who was not his wife or family member. He could offer no tips for where to look.

He sat down at his desk. Needing distraction, he decided to bury himself in work, and ripped open the next letter.

 

_Dear Major Tallmadge,_

_My name is Catherine Floyd, I’m Mary’s sister. I’m sorry to tell you that she is missing. We hope she is with you as we would rather welcome two new family members than lose one. If she is with you, please write back telling us so. Our mother is very ill from worry._

_Catherine Floyd_

Ben tossed the letter aside and put his head in his hands. He wished she were with him! He would rather deal with Caleb’s teasing if Mary were pregnant than worry about her safety. She was supposed to be safe in Connecticut! Away from the lobsters, away from the Tories! Away from the battles!

He opened the last letter. A lock of brown hair fell onto his desk. With his heart in his throat and stomach churning wildly, Ben plucked it from the desktop. Then, he read.

 

_Major Tallmadge,_

_When last we met, you were to have breakfast in my house. Unfortunately, circumstances required me to leave early and since that time, we have found ourselves on opposite sides of the war. I should like to arrange a meeting between the two of us. To facilitate that end, I have enclosed a pass for you to enter New York City._

_I believe you will object to this meeting, so I have taken necessary steps to ensure your attendance. I have learned of a young lady you are courting, Miss Mary Floyd, daughter of William Floyd. I have arranged steps to collect her and by the time you receive this, she should be a guest at my house. I doubt she will be happy to be here, but she will be here. Enclosed with this letter and pass will be proof that she is in my custody._

_Come to New York, present yourself to the sentries with this pass, and insist upon being delivered to my address._

_Your humble servant,_

_Benedict Arnold_

 

Ben looked at the hair. So this was his proof? A lock of Mary’s hair? It was the right color, he had to admit.

He looked at the pass and then at the last piece of paper.

 

_Mary Floyd_

 

She had quite clearly signed the piece of paper. He knew her signature; he saw it at the bottom of every letter. He knew her handwriting; it boosted his mood every time he saw his name penned on the address.

Mary was in New York with Benedict Arnold, of that he had no doubts. He cycled through his options.

  1. He could send a letter to William Floyd and let him deal with it as he saw fit.
  2. He could write to General Clinton about Arnold having abducted a woman, clearly to be used as bait. General Clinton would not approve of that, indeed.
  3. He could tell General Washington, try to get permission to take troops into New York.
  4. He could go to New York.



There were problems with all of these plans. The first all depended on how Mr. Floyd responded to the news and what steps he would take. From his understanding, Mr. Floyd was a conservative man who’d only agreed to independence at a last resort. What fight would he give Arnold in exchange for his daughter?

The second based Mary’s safety upon the integrity of a man leading the British. It would also require that he be believed, that Arnold hadn’t taken steps to secure Clinton’s approval or hide his actions.

The third was impossible. To take even a small number of troops into New York would be suicide. The city was a stronghold of the British, he would need all of the American forces to take it and assistance from the French. Washington would never go for that.

Going to New York was his only option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, really wanted to include Abigail in this story but I decided I'd rather Abigail got her freedom. In this fic's world, she's in Canada with Cicero and she has her own house and things are going great. She and Anna have plans to meet up after the war. 
> 
> Also, I have *no* idea what the color of the real life Mary was. There's only one picture of her and her hair is powdered. I have found no descriptions of her and I have looked. However, her eyes look brown. I did find a photograph of her daughter, Maria, whose hair appears to be brown, in a painting of her, her hair is very dark. Her son, Frederick, whom I found several paintings of, had very dark hair. So I'm guessing that Mary's hair was dark.


	15. Tar and Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mob violence in this chapter

Dawn came and Ben left with the scouts. He had awakened his commanding officer to request a leave of absence the previous night. The colonel had signed it off with a few yawns, not even bothering to listen to Ben’s “excuse” (family emergency). Afterwards, Ben had packed a few things in his haversack: a canteen of cider, some biscuits, a few white cloths for when he would approach the British lines, and some spare clothes. He would wear his uniform; there was no sense in crossing lines dressed as anything but a Continental officer. He would not make Andre’s mistake in hiding who he was. They would not have reason to execute him as a spy if he wore his uniform.

But he made no mistake; the chance of leaving New York City alive was nonexistent. Most likely he would be offered a firing squad execution, given his status as an officer.

In anticipation of the event of his death, Ben had written out an explanation to Washington as well as how Ben thought the ring should proceed. His second-in-command largely fell to Caleb, but after the incident with Mr. Townsend, Ben wasn’t too sure of Caleb’s decision-making skills. He definitely was not trusting Abe to command the ring. So while he deferred to Washington’s opinion, he suggested Caleb be the leader in name only but that he and Anna be co-leaders. Obviously Anna could not officially be in charge, but she had good sense and more restraint than Caleb.

Ben walked on for a ways. He had left Highlander with the army; he would rather have his horse belong to the Continentals than the British. He followed the river and flagged down a few boats. The first two were unwilling to take him – a Continental officer going into British territory? Ben lied and said he had a message under flag of truce for Clinton from one of the Continental generals, but even then they were not willing. Finally, he managed to find a ride that would take him only part of the way.

They dropped him off about half an hour’s walk from the sentry post. Of course Ben knew where they were from scouting reports and other intelligence reports. 

He picked up a stick, tied one of his white cloths around the end, and held it up in the air as he approached.

 The redcoats raised their rifles and then lowered them when they saw the flag. The soldiers looked at each other, uncertain. Once he got close enough, they grabbed him by his shoulders; one ordered the other to get some rope. The junior soldier hurried off and the senior one demanded to know if there were any other rebels in the woods. Ben answered truthfully, no, he was alone. “I have a pass from Benedict Arnold in my bag,” he told the soldier as the other approached with the rope. Ben let his hands be bound while the other went through his haversack. The redcoat found the pass and showed it to the other.

 

* * *

 

In the wee hours of the morning, the door to Mary’s room opened. The ranger walked over, his steps creaking on the floorboards. He held his hand out and waved it over her face. Mary kept her breathing nice and even but couldn’t resist turning her head a bit. That didn’t concern the man, he left and Mary waited a few beats then threw the covers off. She yanked the pillowcase off the pillow and shoved the cloths Mrs. Arnold had given her for her hygiene and the money from Mrs. Arnold into her makeshift bag.

True to the plan, when she tested the door, she met no resistance and no one stood in the hall. She could hear Mrs. Arnold talking to the ranger about how she wanted the chairs arranged. Mary slipped out and quietly shut the door behind her. Quickly and quietly, keeping the bag tight to her so the coins did not make noise. Mrs. Arnold had explained the route needed very well, Mary felt comfortable that she would not end up in the wrong room. But she listened for movement as she worried someone would find her. Her heart sped in her chest and she struggled to breathe evenly and fretted that it would be too loud.

After what felt like ages and seconds at the same time, Mary reached the door that would let her out into the city. Checking that no one was around to hear or see her, she opened the door and walked out.

Dawn had arrived but the city’s buildings provided enough shelter from the sun’s light that Mary thought she could blend into the shadows. At the very least, no one would look twice at her if Mr. Arnold, the house staff, or any of the rangers looked out the windows.

Her only problem became that Mrs. Arnold was largely unfamiliar with the city, preferring to keep to her social circles. The last time she had crossed the city’s boundaries, she had joined her husband. As such, she did not have very good directions and by midday, she was completely lost.

After taking the money out of it, Mary hid the pillowcase behind some crates, and went into a shop. There she bought a nice bag that was simple but pretty. It was a bag any girl might carry. During the time she browsed the bags, she chatted with some girls, eventually bringing up that she and her family were thinking about visiting her aunt and cousins just outside of the city. Mary pretended that she hadn’t left the city since the soldiers began checking passes and asked if they knew what it would be like. They giggled about how dashing the soldiers looked and the shopkeeper mentioned one of the main passage points.

Now with a destination, Mary went back outside, swapped her things to the new bag and continued on her journey. She wanted to get a ways away from the shop so that no one around there would think her suspicious when she asked a passerby for directions. But not wanting to seem in too much of a hurry, she window-shopped and eventually bought herself some lunch.

If not for watching each and every redcoat that passed her or even stood on the same street carefully to see if they were on their way to apprehend her, Mary felt as if she were enjoying a nice trip. And that was how she wanted to appear, if she didn’t look like she was a New Yorker, she wanted to look like a happy visitor.

Once her meal was over, Mary hedged the question of directions to the owner of the restaurant. He took out a piece of paper and showed her where they were and where her destination was. “It’s not far, then,” Mary observed.

“Not at all, miss, we get regulars in here coming off their shifts regularly, if you’ll pardon the pun.” Mary smiled at him obligingly. “You tell your pa that he doesn’t need to leave so early, they’re quite efficient at getting folks on through.”

“I’ll tell him you said so,” Mary lied. She thanked him and then went on her way.

The real problem, she figured, would be getting past the sentries without a pass. She supposed she could buy some paper, ink, and a quill to forge a pass, but she did not know what they looked like. That meant that was out of the question.

Perhaps the answer would come to her once she arrived, perhaps not.

Mary paused to let a few people hurry by and then noticed that actually, a lot of people were heading in the same direction.

Curious, she followed the crowd.

The crowd became louder and louder. At first it was all a jumble of noise but then she started to pick out individual words and epithets.

 “Traitor!”

“Whore’s son!”

“Hang the bastard!”

Mary stood on her tiptoes and saw a continental officer, clad in his blue coat with gold epaulets on the shoulders, being escorted through the city. His dark blond hair was mussed, as if someone had yanked his head. Mary noticed an epaulet moved strangely, as if in need of being re-stitched.

There was something…eerily familiar about the officer. Mary brushed that aside, no, it wasn’t Benjamin. It couldn’t be him, she was just being paranoid.

Then someone threw something (an apple? A peach? Mary didn’t know) and it struck the officer in the throat.

He went down, coughing, gagging, struggling to breathe. And in that moment, she saw his face, twisted in agony, and she screamed out, “BENJAMIN!”

The crowd’s cheers at his pain drowned out her cry, thankfully.

It was him, it _was_ him, it was _him_.

She felt sick to her stomach and this time she could not hold back the tears.

“WHO THREW THAT?” The crowd quieted down, muttering to one another in confusion. Were they in trouble for showing this rebel what they thought of him?

Mary, meanwhile, _definitely_ felt sick. She knew that voice. It belonged to Captain Simcoe.

“I’m afraid the good major needs to speak to us,” Simcoe spoke just loud enough to be heard. They could also hear Benjamin’s ragged breathing as he recovered. Mary watched him, on his knees, glare up at Simcoe. He had one hand on his throat; she couldn’t see the other. “If you have other options – perhaps someone brought some tar? That would be acceptable.”

_Who would have brought tar with them?_ Mary wondered in hopeful disbelief.

Mary soon had an answer as a few men quickly shouted they could get some tar from a nearby location. Simcoe ordered them to fetch it and Mary covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from saying anything that would draw attention to her. They weren’t seriously going to tar and feather Benjamin, were they?

“Up you get,” Simcoe offered a hand to Benjamin. Mary prayed he would take it. The sooner he got to his feet, the more likely they could escape the mob’s wrath. Instead, Benjamin turned his face away in rejection. Simcoe smiled, unperturbed, and grabbed Benjamin roughly, hauling him to his feet. “Take his clothes,” Simcoe instructed.

The mob cheered as the soldiers wrenched Benjamin’s jacket down until they realized they had to unbind his hands or cut the sleeves. They opted to cut the uniform and slit it and his shirt. Another cut through the front of his waistcoat to avoid having to undo any buttons. Thus, they divested him of his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.

He stood there, hands bound, chest bare while the soldiers tauntingly asked the crowd if they should remove his breeches. The crowd screamed out in affirmation and Mary bit down on her knuckle, holding in her screams. A hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Miss, if you desire, I can guide you out of here.”

Mary shook her head; she couldn’t leave him.

“This will not be pretty,” the gentleman warned her. “Once mobs have reached this tenor, it takes a bit of effort to bring them down.”

When the soldier went for Benjamin’s breeches, Benjamin brought his bound hands up and poked the man in the eyes. The soldier shrieked in pain and leapt back. Simcoe struck Benjamin repeatedly and by that time the men had returned with the tar and feathers.

The crowd did not wish to wait for the soldiers to get Benjamin’s breeches down; they wanted to inflict their punishment immediately. They applied the tar with brushes; coating him with enough to make the feathers stick – even getting some in his hair and on his face – then dumped the feathers on him. 

Instead of parading him on a pole or other mount, they marched him down the street. Though each step felt like she was dropping bricks on pudding, Mary followed. The man who had offered to extract her from the crowd offered her his arm and she took it.

Once she saw they had taken Benjamin to Benedict Arnold’s house, she asked the gentleman to escort her out of the crowd. He did so. She could not stop the tears that fell. Benjamin had just been tarred and feathered and all she had done was _watch_. He was there because of her – Simcoe had been right, Benjamin did come to save her.

The man retrieved a handkerchief from his pockets and handed it to her. Grateful, Mary wiped her eyes. “As a Quaker, I abhor violence,” the man sighed. “But I do believe mob justice is one of the worst forms of violence in this world.”

Fresh tears fell and she wiped them away. “If you’re opposed to violence, why did you stay?”

The man sighed. “My business partner runs a gazette, I figured I would gather some information for him and then I saw you. Of all the people in the crowd, you were the only one who seemed…human.” He paused. “Why did _you_ stay?”

“I…I know him,” she whispered.

The man pulled her off of the main street into a little alleyway. “Listen to me and listen very carefully. You _knew_ him. Never tell anyone in this city you know him, keep it all in the past. We all know some rebels, but sympathy for them is dangerous.”

He asked if she needed him to escort her now that she was out of the crowd. With sincere thanks, Mary declined. She waited for him to leave and then went looking for the nearest apothecary.

 

* * *

 

The housekeeper had refused to let them stay in the house for long. She sent them out back and soon brought soap, a few brushes for horses, and buckets of warm water. Simcoe took a seat and let Ben start washing himself.

The worst part of being tarred and feathered (not that Ben recommended any part of the process) was removing the dried tar and feathers. He did his best to scrub it all off but he was certain he wouldn’t be completely successful. By the time he’d finished, his skin was raw and achy. It was like having a giant sunburn and it being pressed all at once. He recalled when Samuel used to poke his sunburns when they were little.

“Major Tallmadge,” Benedict Arnold arrived with a general. “This is General Henry Clinton. General, this is Major Benjamin Tallmadge. Washington’s intelligence chief.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tarring and feathering was not really like what we imagine today. For one, we hear "tar" and think petroleum - stuff that has a high boiling point. The tar actually used was pine tar, which has the boiling point of around 135F. They didn't need it to boil, they just needed it to be warm enough to apply and remain wet long enough to dump the feathers. The victim was more likely to suffer serious injury from the beatings that might accompany it (which in this fic, Simcoe prevents because, well, they need to question Ben and Simcoe knows how dangerous mobs can be.) They would make the victim be nude or semi-nude before applying tar and feathers. After all was applied, they would often parade them through town. The goal was humiliation. 
> 
> The rating will go up in the next chapter or so.


	16. Mr. & Mrs. John Bolton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence during an interrogation and later some adult themed content with awkwardness, mind the rating change. If you think I need to tag something, let me know!

Strung up in an empty room of the Arnold’s house, Ben overheard the conversation between Arnold, Simcoe, and General Clinton. This, he knew, was by design.

“Wish you’d told me you planned to do this,” Clinton snarled. 

“Sir, Tallmadge handles Washington’s spies, it had to be done this way.”

“And the girl?” 

Ben closed his eyes.

“Gone, escaped.” Ben relaxed as much as he could; his feet barely touched the floor, his wrists hurt from the pressure of the rope and the pull of his weight. At least Mary wasn’t in the same house as Simcoe and Arnold. She was a clever, quick-witted woman; he’d known that since their first meeting. She would make it out of New York just fine.

 “I’ll have to write a letter of apology to her father for getting her involved in this. I’ll have our men look for her, but they will escort her across lines under flag of truce. Interrogate him; I’ll handle the girl. Her situation requires delicacy which you do not possess.” Footsteps approached him and Ben opened his eyes to see Clinton in front of him. “I have only one thing to say to you. Cooperate and we’ll give you the firing squad. No one will know of your role as spy –“

“I’m not a spy,” Ben spat. “I came under flag of truce wearing my uniform – “

“Don’t play daft with me, boy. I was Andre’s superior; I knew what his job entailed. I know what your job entails. Cooperate with us for an honorable death. Otherwise you’ll hang.” Clinton began to leave.

“'I regret that I have but one life to give for my country,'” Ben said forcefully. He turned on his toes, twisting the rope that suspended him. Clinton stopped and faced Ben. “That’s what my friend Nathan Hale said before you lot strung him up. I followed him into the army, we were roommates, classmates, and belonged to the same clubs at Yale. If that is how he met his end, how do you imagine I shall meet mine?”

Clinton scoffed and left. Simcoe moved to Ben’s side. “I imagine you’ll go blubbering like a baby, pissing yourself.” He slammed a fist into Ben’s side and knocked the breath out of him. “Now tell us, who were Culper’s contacts?”

Ben regained his breathing. “Who’s Culper?” he asked.

“Oh, right,” Simcoe smiled. “You might know him better as Robert Rogers.”

Ben watched Arnold take a seat. Fury rose in Ben’s chest at the mere sight of the man. While his eyes were fixed elsewhere, Simcoe brought his knee up to Ben’s groin. Ben yelled and instinctively tried to curl around himself, but could not. “Culper’s contacts,” Simcoe repeated. “Who. Are. They.”

Ben struggled to breathe, struggled to find a position that didn’t cause his shoulders to ache any more than they already did. “Rogers doesn’t work for me,” Ben groaned. Simcoe punched him and blood poured from Ben’s nose. “He doesn’t work for me.”

“Quit lying!” Simcoe landed more blows. Ben cried out in pain.

 

* * *

 

Peggy moved about the house, trying to find a location where she couldn’t hear Major Tallmadge’s cries. They didn’t occur very often, but each time they happened, she stabbed herself with her needle. She felt she would go insane if she could not avoid it when a note arrived for her.

 

_We need to talk. Come out the front door, walk three blocks to the left, I shall be waiting._

_-M. F._

Peggy read it over a few times and then went for her cloak. There was only one person who fit those initials. She explained her leaving to no one, not that she needed to, but she passed Mrs. Griswold without a word. As per the directions, she found Mary Floyd waiting on the street.

“What are you doing here?” Peggy asked. “You’re supposed to be –“

“I saw him,” Mary interrupted. Peggy fell silent. “I was on my way and I saw him. I can’t leave him, Mrs. Arnold, I just can’t. He’s here because of me.” 

“Then do him this relief and leave.”

Mary fixed her with a soul-searing stare. “Would you have left Major Andre? Were you in my position, would you leave?”

Peggy looked down and picked at her nails. She had to admit that no, she would not leave. Mary produced a small bottle from a bag that Peggy imagined she had bought with the money given to her. Mary showed the bottle to her and Peggy read the label.

Laudanum. 

“I have a plan. Will you help me?" 

Peggy sighed. “I wish this war never happened, but I wish we had met. We could have been such friends.”

 

* * *

 

Aching and certain he would die tomorrow, Ben climbed into the bed they had provided for him. Caleb would surely have found the letter he’d left. Hopefully he wouldn’t have been able to go do something rash. He didn’t need to lose his courier. Not that Caleb would be his courier for very long, he was just Washington’s courier really. Anna would probably cry, that thought sent a stab of pain through him and he rolled over to bury his face into the pillow.

Was this how Nathan had felt? This sense of dread but acceptance? This cataloging of how friends and family would react to news of his death?

God, his father was going to be _destroyed_. Losing both boys in this war. Ben pressed his face further into the pillow to muffle the sob that built up in his chest.

A slight feminine scent from the pillow turned his thoughts. It was likely someone else’s, but it reminded him of how Mary smelled. Ben rolled over onto his back and imagined Mary on the bed with him.

It was wrong – oh so very wrong of him to think of her that way. But he was going to die the following day, surely she would forgive him this small comfort?

He imagined her on the bed again, sitting there, brushing her hair. He would reach up and take her hands into his, toss the brush onto the floor. He imagined he could hear it clatter. Keeping both of her hands in one of his, he would reach out and cup her face, trace her cheekbone with his thumb. Then he’d brush his thumb over her lips, feel her breath against his hand. Their eyes would meet and he’d guide her down to kiss him.

Ben closed his eyes as he imagined her kissing him, hair falling around her face and tickling his face and neck. He could sweep it up, hold it behind her head, or fist his hand in her soft hair. He could do whatever he wanted and she would kiss him hungrily. She would want all of him and he would give her everything she desired.

She would pull away to start undoing her blouse. He would assist, would tell her how beautiful she was. When her blouse was gone, when her undergarments gone, he would caress her breasts, feel her soft skin against his and marvel at how God could create such perfection. She would remove her skirts and other garments, then straddle his lap.

In the real world, his pants became tight and he reached down to palm himself through his breeches.

Mary would straddle him, posed such that he could feel her heat above his arousal. He would rock his hips so she could feel how badly he wanted her and she would gasp. The sound would about undo him. Ben’s head fell back against the pillow and he reached down to undo the laces of his breeches.

Again, Mary would kiss him and he’d roll them over so he was atop her. She would look up at him with lust and trust. Silently, she would plead for him to fill her, to give her a child.

He would never have a wife. Never see her stomach swell with their child. He would never, ever be a father.

That thought speared him.

In his fantasy, Mary reached up to cup his cheek. “Don’t cry, love. It’s all right. I love you.”

He rocked his hips and imagined she would moan. He would kiss her, and then quickly undress. She would sit up to watch him, would reach out to touch him.

Breeches undone, Ben took his erection in his hand and imagined Mary was the one stroking him. He bit his lip to keep from making any noise.

“Benjamin?” Mary asked.

He hummed in response. _So good, Mary_ , he wanted to tell her. _Yes, just like that_.

 There was a gentle pressure at his shoulder. He ignored it to continue his illusion.

“Benjamin,” there was a little more force to the push at his shoulder and this time his name wasn’t a question.

Ben opened his eyes, then sat up, impressed by how strong his imagination was. Mary was dressed again, though, what a stupid mistake. On the other hand, he would have to undress her again and that was very enjoyable. He kissed her, hard. She put up a bit of resistance, pushing at his shoulders. “Benjamin, stop,” she managed.

He reached for her blouse and this time she slapped him across the face.

Completely jolted out of his daydream, he came the to the horrifying knowledge that Mary actually _was_ with him. He had kissed her wantonly, had attempted to undress her, he was utterly indecent being dressed solely in breeches, and worst of all, his cock was out of said breeches. If she looked down –

Frantically, he covered himself. “What are you –“

She covered his mouth with her hand and shushed him. “Rescuing you, of course. Now come along, Mrs. Arnold and I have given everyone laudanum laced tea, but I’ve no idea how long it will last.”

“Mrs. Arnold?” Ben asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Mary whispered. “I’ll explain later, just…please, just come with me.”

Covered and embarrassed, he got out of bed and moved to check that the soldier guarding his door really was asleep. The man was slumped against the wall. Not one to let the opportunity pass, Ben grabbed his haversack and took out a clean shirt and waistcoat. With ease and speed, he dressed. 

They left the room but Ben made Mary wait for a few seconds. Without a second thought, Ben took the man’s carbine and ammunition and then reached for Mary’s hand. “Let’s go,” he whispered.

 

* * *

 

Mrs. Arnold had gone to bed in order to avoid suspicions, but Mary wished that she had the opportunity to thank her once again. She led Ben to the back door and they snuck out. There weren’t as many soldiers milling about as during the day, but she knew there were at least two stationed outside the front door of the Arnolds’ residence.

Hand in hand, they walked briskly. The weapon in Benjamin’s hand simultaneously worried Mary and relieved her. What if someone saw them and tried to apprehend them? Well, Benjamin could shoot that person. What if someone heard the shot? Well….

It was best not to think of it.

Benjamin pulled her deeper into the shadows and took a few breaths. “Are you all –“ 

“Shh,” he ordered. “I’m thinking.”

Surprised, she blinked. Just what was he thinking about?! They had to get out of the city and the nighttime was the perfect opportunity to slip past the sentries! So long as they moved unseen they would be fine.

“About what?” she whispered.

“How best to leave the city,” he answered. “I’m trying to orient myself –“

“I know how to get to the main sentry point from here,” Mary offered with a grin.

“That would be perfect,” he admitted. “If not for one problem. Mary, I am _exhausted_."

The horrible incident in the street was fresh in her mind, she could only conclude it was even worse for him. Then there were the details Mrs. Arnold had mentioned while they made their plans. She’d heard him yell twice after Mrs. Arnold snuck her into the house. They had interrogated him, she knew.

 Benjamin went and looked around, then came back to where she stood. “Caleb taught me a bit of navigation using the stars,” he gestured to the sky. Mary craned her head as he pointed. “See those four there?” Which ones? She saw many. “The ones that make like a little bowl? And then the three tail? The brightest star at the tail? That’s the north star, it’s always in the north. So that’s north, which means…” he trailed off, took her hand, and they began walking again. He checked street signs as they went.

 They stopped at another alley and he presented the gun and ammunition to her. “Hide these under your skirts.” Mary did so and Benjamin averted his eyes as she arranged it all. He bent down and gathered something off the ground, then thought better of it and told her, “Shove me.”

“What?

“Shove me. Push me over, like you mean it.”

There was only one reason he would demand that, Mary figured. Simcoe must have given him a strong blow to the head and he’d lost all sense.

“We need to make it look as though we were just assaulted,” Benjamin explained. “They’ll ask far fewer questions that way.”

Whoever ‘they’ were.

Mary nodded and Benjamin directed her to push him from the back. She shoved him, hard, like she used to do with Nicky after he’d teased her. God, she hadn’t thought of her family for most of the day! _They must be worried about me_ , Mary thought.

Benjamin went down, he barely braced himself for the fall and then got up, clothes ruffled and dirty. Mary mussed her hair and promptly flung herself onto the ground. It hurt and she got up with a wince. Benjamin stared at her. “What?” Mary asked.

“You- no, it’s not of import at the moment. Come on,” he took her arm. “Look upset,” he advised her. Mary thought of her family, how her mother was probably beside herself, how Betsy probably didn’t understand anything that was going on – it didn’t take long, she had tears running down her face and her cheeks were hot.

They left the alley and Benjamin pounded frantically on the door of a building. What kind of building, Mary didn’t know. She couldn’t see much to tell whether it was a business or residence, but the door opened and a man stood there with a frown.

He looked…familiar.

“We’re closing,” he informed them briskly.

The Quaker!

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Benjamin’s voice was thick with emotion. “It’s just…my wife and I,” he gestured to Mary. “We were just mugged and I’m afraid – I’m so sorry. Could you perhaps get my wife a drink? She’s so very upset and –“

The Quaker stepped aside and gestured for them to come in. He directed them to a backroom. A few redcoats were in the main room and Mary reasoned it must be a tavern as they appeared drunk. One man was having a heated discussion with the wall decoration. Another had his arm slung over another’s shoulder and was yelling, “N-no, yer the biggest bastard of them all, but I love ya, ya know?” his words slurred together.

Inside the backroom, the Quaker poured Mary a glass of wine and one for Benjamin. They were alone, Benjamin’s eyes swept the room, as did Mary’s. “Thank you, thank you so much,” Benjamin accepted both and handed one to Mary. She took it and drank a bit. “My name is John Bolton.”

_John Bolton_. The name on Abigail’s piece of paper. The paper Mary had eaten.

“Do you perhaps know a Samuel Culper?” Benjamin continued. “I know his father and he told me that he lived around here. I wouldn’t trouble him normally, but since, well, the incident outside, I find I’m in need of assistance and he –“

The Quaker sighed in disgust. “I should have known,” he grumbled. Then he looked at Mary and reassessed her. “I see you didn’t leave him in the past.”

Benjamin turned to her, brow furrowed.

“We really do need assistance,” Mary offered quietly. “If you could direct us to Mr. Culper –“

“You’ve found him.” The Quaker interrupted and looked around the room. “Samuel Culper, Jr, at your service,” he bowed lightly. “Seems I have no other option. What do you need?”

“A place to stay the night,” Benjamin spoke quickly. “And for you to place an advertisement and assistance in getting out of the city.”

Mr. Culper continued to frown, but he looked over at Mary. “I’m afraid the only room I can offer is mine. The three of us shall have to share. It is not the most ideal, but will it do?”

Mary nodded. “Thank you,” Benjamin agreed.

“Good, we can discuss things further in there. Come along, I have to get back to work and toss the soldiers out for the night.” Mr. Culper led them to his room upstairs and then left.

Mr. Culper’s room was very well cleaned. It had a bed, a desk, and a dresser. There was also a washstand with mirror near the bed and a very comfortable chair by another table. On the table were books. Benjamin went over to the chair and sank down on it. After removing the gun and ammunition and hiding them under the bed, Mary knelt down next to him and brushed his hair away from his face. Benjamin tilted his head in her direction but his eyes were closed. “Are you badly hurt?” she asked softly.

“Mm-mm,” Benjamin shook his head. “Tired,” he admitted.

Not really believing him, Mary began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. His eyes flew open at that. “Come on,” she urged gently. His wild eyes searched hers. “You can’t sleep in your clothes, they’ll get dirty and you’ve naught else to wear tomorrow.”

He caught her hand as she reached for another button. Their eyes met for a very long pause. “I am so, so sorry you were caught up in all this.” Mary shook her head. “No, Mary, really, this is…protocol –“

“Stop talking, Benjamin. What’s done is done and I do not blame you for it.” Red marks on his wrists beckoned to her and she gently touched them. “What –“

“Rope burns,” he explained. Upset, Mary lowered her face and swallowed. Keeping her face angled away from him, she reached for his boots and went to remove them. He assisted her by lifting his feet and pulling away while she tugged the boot in the opposite direction. As she pulled off the other boot, Ben finished undoing his waistcoat

“Come on,” she offered. “I’ll convince Mr. Culper to let you have the bed.” She took hold of his arm and led him over to the bed. Keeping one hand on his arm, she pulled the covers back and he slid in between them.

“His name’s not Culper. It’s Townsend.”

Just as his name wasn’t really John Bolton. Mary sighed. She had so many questions and yet he needed sleep. Her questions would have to wait until morning 

By the time Mr Culper – Mr. Townsend, whoever he really was, returned with extra bed linen, Benjamin had fallen asleep.

Townsend eyed the occupied bed and then turned to Mary. “I would have offered it to you –“

“Thank you, but he needs it more than I do.”

“Well…” he handed her the bedding. “Do you mind turning while I change clothes?”

 Mary occupied herself with setting up a bed on the floor for her and when he had changed, she gave him the rest of the bedding. “Good night, sir. Thank you again.”

He spread out his own blankets. “Don’t mention it. And I mean that sincerely – if we ever meet again, you do not know me. For your safety and mine.” Mary nodded. “Good night, Mrs. Bolton.”

Grateful for the pillow, Mary hid her smiling face. _Mrs. Bolton_.

Then, remembering the weapon, she said, “Oh…by the way, I stashed a gun under the bed.”

Townsend sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for anyone who got their hopes up that Ben and Mary would share the bed. 
> 
> Oh and Ben does remember that those were not Nathan's last words, but he'd rather continue the myth in the presence of Benedict Arnold.


	17. Escape to Oyster Bay

Morning came far too early for Ben, even though he’d slept later than everyone else. He rolled over with a soft groan from his aching muscles. Seated in the comfortable chair by the table with the books, Mary looked over at him. “You’re awake,” she observed and put the newspaper on the table. He sat up and looked around the room. Townsend wasn’t there, but he noticed a plate of food, so he either brought it up or Mary had retrieved it. “How are you feeling?” she asked, standing up and approaching him.

Mentally checking, he could assure her that he was mostly all right, just sore. But there was a pressing issue. “I don’t know how to ask this,” Ben started. Mary paused and then hurried over to press the back of her hand to his forehead. “No, I’m fine, really. I just…could you give me some privacy? As much as you can?”

Understanding crossed her face and she went back to the chair and newspaper. Ben stepped out of bed and found the chamber pot. He took care of his needs, each second felt like hours as his face burned in embarrassment. He’d urinated in front of others before, but they were _men_.

Need taken care of, he washed his hands and face. “What happened to my waistcoat?” he asked. Mary told him and he put it on, feeling much more at ease. At least now he was decent. Townsend’s comb lay next to the washbasin and Ben hoped he wouldn’t mind if Ben used it. His stomach rumbled and Mary spoke up, telling him to come, sit down and eat.

Deciding that his hair could wait, he did so. Townsend had assembled a decent assortment of pastries and left some ale. While he munched, she fetched the comb and offered to redo his queue. As she combed his hair, she filled him in on what had happened while he slept.

“Mr. Townsend said to tell you he placed an advertisement,” her deft fingers made short work of plaiting his hair. It disappointed him; it had felt nice to have her toy with his hair. “And he’ll arrange for a wagon and smuggle us out of the city today.” 

Ben hummed, his mouth full of pastry, and then swallowed. “Did he say a time?”

“Afternoon sometime,” Mary took the open seat. “I got the impression he wanted to confer with you.” Ben nodded, that made sense. “Now…if you don’t mind, I have a few questions.”

His mouth went dry and he reached for the ale. Was she going to talk about their escape of the Arnold house? Or what had happened just before leaving?

“How do you know Mr. Townsend? Or Mr. Culper?”

Oh. That was less uncomfortable to discuss but slightly more troublesome to explain. There were restrictions that were necessary for all their sakes. “This is the first time we’ve met,” Ben confessed. “My…one of my agents recruited him for the cause. Culper is how we keep him safe. It’s an alias.”

“Just as John Bolton is yours,” Mary nodded. “But what of the numbers?”

“Numbers?” Ben asked. 

“You’re 721,” she stated.

Ben’s blood ran cold at that. The numerical code had not been stolen by Gamble and even though they used the stain more often, the code was still used. That Mary knew even one of the numbers – had Arnold somehow learned bits of the code? If Arnold knew any of it, then the Culpers were in danger. “How did you come across that?” His voice was tight.

“There was a carved ship in my room at the Arnolds’, it belonged to a woman named Abigail.”

The _ship_. Ben recalled Sackett chastising a soldier for making the first too elaborate, reminding the man that Cicero was merely a boy, and he certainly wasn’t likely to have any great skill carving. He remembered showing Anna the secret note and Anna’s objections.

If Mary had found the note, then someone else must have as well. “I found a note hidden in it,” Mary continued to speak through Ben’s mental gymnastics. “It had a list of numbers and meanings. Your name was not mentioned anywhere, but I know your hand.”

Andre could not have discovered the note, otherwise he would have known of Abigail’s role as a spy. “What did you do with the note?” he asked fearfully.

“I ate it.”

A beat.

“You what?”

“I ate it. I figured that way no one else could –“

Ben stopped her with a forceful kiss. “You are…incredible,” he laughed. “Absolutely incredible.” After that, without telling her more of the code, he explained how it worked.

 

* * *

 

Midway through pouring a cup of ale, Benedict Arnold walked into the tavern. Townsend kept his face impassive as he delivered the ale to the patron. The rest of the occupants were not so kind; they looked at Arnold with irritation and disgust. Most of the patrons here were familiar with Major Andre and blamed Arnold for his loss. Several thought he was a shifty fiend, self-centered, and arrogant.

Townsend had his own reasons for disliking the man. Namely that if Arnold found out about Townsend’s…activities, it would result in a rope around his neck followed by a sudden drop. After that, it would depend on how well the hangman had done his job. He could either have his neck snapped or he could be decapitated, or he could just suffocate. Not a single one of those appealed to him in any fashion.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Townsend asked politely. “Madeira?”

“Not here for a drink,” he removed a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to Townsend. “Have you seen this man?”

The sketch was clearly of Benjamin Tallmadge. Townsend pretended to consult it thoughtfully and then handed it back. “I don’t believe so.”

“Think,” Arnold pushed the paper back and Townsend took another look. “Think hard. He might have bruises on his face.”

Yes, that was certainly true. Before leaving his room this morning, he’d noticed the black eyes developing on the major. There was also a giant bruise on his neck, which Townsend knew to be from the fruit thrown at him before the mob decided on a different method of dispensing justice.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen him. Who is he? A soldier?”

Arnold scowled. “He’s a spy, this is the bastard that ruined my life and took Andre’s life.”

Pretending to have a rekindled interest, Townsend looked the sketch over. “I wish I could be of more help, but I cannot say I’ve seen him.”

Arnold nodded and then went over to ask the patrons. Townsend occupied himself with glasses that needed cleaning and refilling mugs.

He had arranged to leave for Oyster Bay with a cart of supplies. There would be no way to account for the major. A bar fight would suffice as an explanation for his cuts and bruises, but Townsend had reasoned that sentries would be put on alert. Now that Arnold had a sketch and was showing it around, it reaffirmed his concerns. The best plan would be to hide Tallmadge under some supplies and distract the sentry to prevent too close an examination. As for Miss Floyd, that was easily solved. He merely had to pretend that she was a neighbor’s niece who had journeyed to the city and now Townsend would escort her home. They would not suspect her too much.

Arnold left without any tips on where to find the major. To keep from smiling, Townsend bit the inside of his cheek. Around midday, he took his break and snuck some more food upstairs.

 Major Tallmadge was awake and dressed. Miss Floyd had been awake shortly after Townsend woke. They had evidently thought him to be someone else, as they emerged from behind the furniture only after he shut the door and they had peeked at him. “I brought lunch,” he said quietly. He set the food down on the table and then hurried on to say, “I can’t stay long. I’ve arranged for a cart –“

“Mary said you had,” Tallmadge interrupted. “Thank you. Do you have a time?”

"An hour or two,” Townsend answered apologetically. “Now look, I’ll come up again to gather my valise. The two of you should exit after I do and go out the back door. I’ll meet you there.” He explained the directions and checked that they understood. They hammered out a few details as to their escape over their lunch.

 

* * *

 

It was time to leave. Townsend had already left. Mary tucked the gun under her skirts again and Ben took her shoulders in his hands. “Mary, I need you to promise me something.”

“I won’t shoot myself,” she promised with a cheeky smile.

He smiled back, “No, if this goes wrong – if I’m discovered, you and Townsend should cover for each other. He’s vital to the Revolution and you –“ he caressed her face. “Get home. Please. Promise me.”

She scowled. “You forget, I have a gun.” A gun she didn’t know how to shoot, but that was beside the point. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“Mary,” he began but she rose up on her tiptoes and silenced him with a kiss as he had done during her explanation of eating the note.

“Shush you, we’re wasting time.”

He wanted to grab her hand, stop her and demand she promise him this, but he knew she was right. Timing was of the essence and so they snuck out of the room, down the halls, and out the door. Townsend had a cart hitched to a horse ready to go. Plenty of packages were already loaded into the cart, but there were a few left to load, as it were.

As per discussion, Ben climbed into a trunk that was already on the cart. Mary began to arrange dresses and other clothes over him – including a few petticoats, much to Ben’s discomfort. It would be bad enough to hide in a trunk, but to hide under skirts adorned with lace just seemed to be asking for trouble. “Lace, Townsend?” he asked.

“I spent my own money on these, only the best for Mrs. Bolton,” Townsend gave Mary a conspiratorial smile.

“It tickles,” Ben remarked.

Mary swapped a simple cotton dress for the placement of the lacy petticoat. Clothes settled, they shut the trunk, finished loading and began the journey to the checkpoint.

How had Caleb managed being in the turtle for the trip to rescue Abe? Ben kept his eyes shut and did his best to keep his breathing regulated. He had not thought himself claustrophobic but the darkness suggested to him that he might suffocate in the trunk. Of all the ways to die…

In and out, Ben breathed. In and out.

Up top, Mary chatted with Townsend as though they were best friends. She found him easy to talk to, having gone through some of the books on his table. With gentle prompting, he discussed his thoughts on each. He also pointed out locations to her and explained who owned them and their purposes.

Townsend was glad Rivington wasn’t there to see him, he had smiled more often on the ride with Miss Floyd than he had in the past three months. In addition to the risqué comments the man might make, he might also have made them in front of people who would recognize Mary’s description.

They reached the sentry post and Townsend handed over some papers. “You seen any man with bruises on his face? Not wearing a jacket? Possibly without a waistcoat? Probably sneakin’ around? Dark blond hair?”

Townsend denied and asked Mary. “No,” she shook her head. “None fitting that description.”

“Well, I got to check your luggage, just in case he stowed away.”

“Please, be my guest,” Townsend stood up. “Shall I assist you? I have a rather heavy trunk –“

“Nah, it’s all right,” the sentry poked around but didn’t seem to be too invested. When he reached the trunk with Ben in it, Mary spoke up, requesting he be careful. There were new dresses she had purchased and the sentry’s hands did not look too clean. Townsend chastised her for being rude to the soldier.

“No problem, miss,” the sentry closed the trunk after barely opening it. “Would never go through a lady’s things.” He looked their papers over once more and asked Townsend what the purpose of their trip was. Townsend explained it and then they were waved on through.

Ways away from the post and when they were alone on the road, they stopped the horse and helped Ben out of the trunk. He walked awkwardly, his legs having fallen asleep. His spine cracked as he stretched and Townsend twitched. “I hate that sound,” he explained.

“Sorry,” Ben apologized. “That’s what happens when you’re stuffed in a trunk, but I think I’m all straightened out now.” Mary removed the gun and ammunition from under her skirts and set it back with the rest of the luggage. Like Ben, she stretched, now able to move with greater mobility and no fear of the gun being discovered or falling out.

“Good,” Townsend stepped up onto the seat and held his hand out to help Mary up. Ben wrinkled his nose while they weren’t looking, and then climbed aboard. As they started their journey on to Oyster Bay, Ben put his arm around Mary’s waist.

Hours later, Mary had fallen asleep against Ben’s side, and they finally reached Oyster Bay.

Ben tensed, remembering the last time he had discussed the occupant of the house where they had just arrived. Caleb had admitted to having beaten Mr. Townsend in order to spur the younger Townsend into revolutionary activity. Ben turned to Townsend. “This is long overdue, but I want you to know I did not know of and did not condone the attack on your father. When I learned of it, I reprimanded Caleb as much as I could.” There wasn’t much he could do, but Caleb had definitely learned. Anna’s comments and Ben’s irritation were more punishment to Caleb than any physical punishment or verbal reprimand. Caleb cared far more about his friends’ opinions and trust than he did for his superior’s.

Townsend eyed him. “Thank you.” Ben couldn’t help but feel that his apology hadn’t been well received. He would be sure to issue one to the senior Townsend.

When they slowed to a stop, Ben gently shook Mary awake. She rubbed her eyes and looked about them.

Towsend’s father opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “Robert!” he called out with affection. “I didn’t expect you – and with visitors! Welcome, welcome.”

Ben helped Mary down from the cart while Robert hurried over to ascertain that his father was alone. The elder Townsend seemed amused by his son’s queries. “Of course I’m alone, you rarely visit me. And the last time we had any of your friends over…” he trailed off.

“Yes,” Ben spoke up at that. “I must apologize for that.” Mr. Townsend frowned and Ben introduced himself. “I’m Major Benjamin Tallmadge, Brewster and Culper work for me and I in turn report to Washington. I assure you, I had no foreknowledge of what Brewster and Culper planned. If I had, I would have prevented it. I offer you my deepest condolences.”

Mary glanced curiously between the men, not aware of the incident of which they spoke.

 Mr. Townsend nodded. “Thank you.”

“Father, this is Miss Mary Floyd, formerly of Mastic Bay, currently of Connecticut. Daughter of William Floyd, the signer of the Declaration of Independence.” 

“Well, my dear, welcome to my house. I’m Robert’s father, though I’m sure you’ve gathered that. What brings you to this colony?”

Unsure how to answer that, Mary looked at Ben.

“I’m afraid I did.”

“No,” Mary started but Ben continued.

“A few British soldiers wished to get revenge for slights they perceived I had caused – that I did cause – and abducted her to lure me into enemy territory. As you can see, it worked fairly well.”

Mr. Townsend took Mary’s hands in his. “You poor child, come,” he dropped her hands and offered her his arm. “You have been through such an ordeal. I believe I have a few slices of pie left, do you like plums? My good neighbor makes the most delicious plum pies and I will admit they are a bit of a weakness.” The two walked into the house, leaving Ben and Robert to tend to the horse and cart.

When they arrived in the house, Mary was trying her best to protest the bath Mr. Townsend insisted upon drawing for her. “Really, I don’t want you to trouble yourself –“

“Nonsense!” he cheerfully dismissed all objections. “A warm bath will do you well, and by the time you’ve finished, I shall have finished making plans with my son and your major as to how to get you home. I shall also see what else I can offer you, since I was mistaken about the pie.”

Mary turned to Ben and Robert for back up. Ben gestured to the trunk he had carried in, the very one he had stowed away in, it was much lighter without him. “You have soap and a brand new night dress in here, why not take the opportunity?”

Robert offered to assist in hauling the water and Mary gave up all efforts at refusal.

After her bath, they informed her that in the interest of safety, she and Ben would stay in the cellar. No stray lights would attract any passerby to investigate, and if there were a surprise visit from the soldiers, they would have a hiding place established. Ben carried the trunk down and Mary took the gun. He explained that had brought it in after she went to bathe, despite Mr. Townsend’s opposition to it. Mr. Townsend didn’t like the idea of a gun in his house, but Ben didn’t like the idea of just leaving it around outside, especially since farmhands would be arriving in the morning.

“And what of domestic servants?” Mary asked when Robert brought down some blankets and pillows.

“Father will dismiss them, if you don’t mind doing the cooking? He’ll say I brought some food from New York.”

“Not at all,” Mary agreed. “I’m sure Kitty would say I’ve gone too long without doing any chores.”

“You’ll be sure to watch for Simcoe or other soldiers,” Ben warned.

“Oh, most certainly. But I don’t imagine he’ll expect you in Oyster Bay by now. It’s a fair distance and what would bring you here?”

“He’ll undoubtedly think I’ll head home; I might find a friendly face there, some assistance. Oyster Bay’s not far from Setauket.”

“He can’t go to Setauket,” Mary divided the linens so they could each have their own bed. “He’s persona non grata there, or so I heard when they took me to New York.”

“Still,” Ben cautioned. “Don’t underestimate him.”

“We won’t. We haven’t.” Robert inclined his head and then gave Mary a soft smile. “Good night. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Mr. Townsend,” Ben returned and Mary said her thanks for the help and blankets. Robert left them.


	18. Marriage

In the basement of Mr. Townsend’s house, Mary prepared a bed on the floor. Ben should have made his own, but instead he just stood there with the bedding in his hands. Alone with her outside of the city, he could now contemplate the mess Arnold and Simcoe had made. The mess they weren’t out of yet. While Mary had slept, Townsend had told Ben about the drawing Arnold had passed around the shop. He had heard the sentry describe him when they left as well. They were probably looking for them right now.

Mary finished arranging hers and turned to wish Ben a good night. “Ben, are you all right?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. Immediately, Mary went to his side and touched his forehead, his arms, and then his shoulders. “I’m not wounded but –“ he cupped her face in his hands. “We are in the basement of someone’s house, hiding from a man whom I know to be extremely cruel and ruthless and from another who shared breakfast with soldiers who trusted him only to betray them. And you…the lowest of lows, they tried to _use_ you – I…” he shuddered. “Mary, if you had been Arnold’s captive still…I don’t know if I would have talked or not. I won’t betray my country, but Mary…I can’t lose you. I _love_ you.”

Mary placed a hand over one of Ben’s. She had said it to Mrs. Arnold and she had no hesitation in telling Ben. “I love you too.”

Fervently, Ben kissed her and she kissed him back. His heart slammed in his chest in time to the thought: _she loves me! She loves me!_ He ran his hands down her body, feeling her curves and softness. She gasped into his mouth each time his hands ghosted over her breasts. Her hands toyed with his hair. Somehow in their kissing, he managed to maneuver them to the makeshift bed and brought her down on top of him.

In her position, she could not fail to notice his arousal. She pulled back from him and began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. Her fingers fumbled as she moved with some urgency and he assisted her. Once unbuttoned, he sat up, keeping her still on his lap, and shucked the damn thing off. “Shoes next,” his voice was low and rough. Mary slid off of him to take off her shoes and he regretted his order as he removed his own boots. Shoes off, she returned to his lap and situated herself so that she barely touched his hardness, even through his clothes.

He laid his hand on her neck and felt the flutter of her pulse and wondered if it was fast in response to desire or fear. “Wait, Mary,” he looked into her eyes. “I – please don’t let me pressure you into something because I’m overcome.”

“I want this,” she whispered. “I want _you_.”

Ben’s heart soared. “Marry me,” he took her hands in his. “Here, now.”

“What?” she laughed. “How? Who will be our witness?”

“God will. He’s all that matters anyway. Be my wife, Mary. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, however short or long –“

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes,” she repeated breathlessly.

Ben kissed her again, as if intent on devouring her. Then he pulled away and kept her hands in his. “Lord in heaven,” he prayed. “I, Benjamin Tallmadge, take this woman, Mary Floyd, to be my wife, according to your laws. I vow to honor, cherish, and protect her for all the days of our life. I also vow that when the war is over and I am able, I will wed her according to the laws of our new nation.”

Mary licked her lips and prayed, “I…Mary Floyd, take this man, Benjamin Tallmadge, to be my husband. I promise to love, honor, and cherish for all the days of my life.”

“Amen,” Ben said and she repeated it. Ben crushed her to him again and this time there were no interruptions as they undressed each other.

Bared to him, Mary felt awkward and shy. She became very thankful that her monthly bleeding had finished yesterday and for the bath. She covered herself with her hands and turned her head. Ben eased her hands away with his hands and gentle words of encouragement and then stared at her in awe. Gently, he pushed against her shoulders for her to recline. He leaned over her and gave her a soft kiss. As she relaxed, he left her lips and trailed open mouth kisses down her throat. She moaned softly and he kissed his way back up her throat. Then he made eye contact with her before admiring her breasts. Her hands twitched and her cheeks flushed.

“You…are so beautiful,” he breathed and he reached out to touch her. Her breathing picked up and he settled down on his side next to her as he caressed her breasts. “Relax, it’s all right, it’s all right. If I do something you don’t like, tell me. We can stop any time,” he assured her. Her eyes were wide and he could see her nervousness, but she nodded and he ran his right thumb over her left nipple.

“Oh,” she breathed and closed her eyes. Ben took that as a sign of encouragement and brushed his thumb over her again. Pleasure flickered across her face and he spent a fair amount of time fondling her before he leaned close to take a nipple into his mouth. She jumped and then moaned. Ben licked and sucked each nipple and traced small circles on her stomach with his fingers.

Mary’s hands massaged his neck and shoulders, occasionally they curled into a tight grip on his skin and he repeated the actions that prompted that response. She carefully avoided touching his bruises whenever she touched him. His hand went lower and lower until he came to the triangle of hair that covered her sex. As he touched the apex of her thighs, he asked her to look at him. Her eyes met his and he slid a finger between her folds.

Delightfully, she was a bit wet. His cock twitched in anticipation and he scooted down her body before asking her to open her legs wider. Again, her breathing increased in nervousness and he frowned. He regretted frowning the instant after as her nervous breathing increased and she bit her lip and trembled. 

“Mary,” he reached out to caress her cheek. “How can I make you more at ease? You’re afraid, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Why?” 

“I…I was told it…that this would hurt. And…we might be married before God’s eyes but not before the eyes of my parents and others, what if I –“ she shook her head.

“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Ben assured her. “I don’t want to hurt you….”

“Did it hurt…with her?”

Ben ducked his head, ashamed. “It wasn’t her first time with me,” Ben admitted. “I don’t…I don’t want to talk about her in our bed, but she showed me a few things that might make this more pleasurable. Will you permit me?”

She parted her legs a bit more and he moved so that her calves were on either side of him. Her eyes focused on his length and she made a small noise of fear. Ben glanced down at his hardness and then got up for his breeches. She sat up slightly to watch him, her brows drawn together. “There,” he said once they were on.

“Why did you…” she trailed off, uncertain how to end that question.

“If my manhood made you nervous, I don’t want you to see me until your other nerves have abated.” To his horror, tears formed in her eyes. “Don’t cry, love,” he begged.

“I’m sorry I’m so scared,” she whispered forlornly.

“No, no need. This is scary,” he admitted. “I was scared my first time.” They kissed and he returned to the previous position between her legs. Very tenderly, he separated her folds and gazed at her center. Remembering how Sarah had responded and guided him, Ben caressed Mary’s inner thighs. Her legs shook and she murmured appreciatively. After several of those murmurs, Ben touched her sex. She jerked and whimpered. A quick glance told him that the whimper was one of pleasure and he ran his finger over her soft flesh.

Mary closed her eyes and moaned as his fingers rubbed her and teased her. Without shame, she brought her hands to her breasts. Ben groaned and the sound sent a wave of pleasure through her. She felt herself get wetter and wetter.

Ben eased a finger inside her and she clenched around him, so tight he worried he wouldn’t be able to take his hand away. Whispering sweet words of encouragement, Ben gradually moved his finger in and out of her. When he went to add a second finger, he found he could not. She was too tight. He would have to relax her further.

This time he kissed her thighs and gently touched her clit. She moaned and he had to rub himself through his clothes to relieve some of the pressure.

“Ben…” she said his name tentatively and he instantly gave her his full attention. “May I…” she gestured at his body.

“Absolutely!” he rolled over onto his back and she began to explore him. She kissed each of the bullet scars and having her mouth on the one he received from Lt. Gamble elicited a groan. She was so close to his arousal!

Surprisingly, she touched his nipples and even more surprisingly, he _liked_ it. She ran her nails over them and he whined in want. She bent to his chest and took his left nipple into her mouth as he had done to hers. Ben closed his eyes and placed his hand on her back. She flicked her tongue over each of his nipples and he moaned, “How did you know how to do that?” 

“I liked it when you…did it to me.”

Then she caressed his chest, toyed with his chest hair, and giggled. “You’re fuzzy,” she told him. He reached out a hand and cupped her sex. She gulped. “Point taken,” she admitted and he took his hand away. His fingers were wet from her and he licked his fingers clean. She watched him and he made sure to take extra time licking the last digit of her essence.

Blushing, she massaged his legs and he watched her grow more comfortable. She kissed the inside of his calf and then reached up for the fastening of his breeches. For a moment, Ben thought about stopping her to make sure she was certain. But she had reached for him and so he said nothing. He lifted his hips to help her slide them off him and she set them aside without the same flair of disregard he had for his waistcoat.

Again, her eyes focused on his cock and balls. This time, however, she reached out for them but stopped to look at him for permission. “Touch me, please,” he begged.

Her touch was light and uncertain, but it still made him throw his head back and moan. Carefully, she circled her hand around his shaft and he almost choked. She stroked him and he let out a shaky breath. Then she touched the tip of his penis and as he moaned, he noticed the smug smile on her face.

Seeing him notice her expression caused her to blush again. “I like the sounds you make,” she confessed. 

“Then I hate that we’re hiding,” he grumbled. “Otherwise I’d be so loud the trees would uproot themselves and run away in embarrassment.”

She smiled and brushed her finger over his tip again. “You’re leaking,” she commented. “Are you ok?”

“Oh, God…yes,” he laughed.

She stroked him a few more times and he stopped her. “If you keep doing that,” he explained, “I won’t last.”

 “Last?" 

“Let me show you?”

They changed places so that she was under him, her head against the pillows. He touched her center again and thanked God that she was far wetter than she had been. He positioned himself between her legs and encouraged her to hold on to him. She did so and he rubbed the head of his cock teasingly against her and then pushed in.

Mary pressed her face into his shoulder and whimpered. “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again. Once he was fully inside, he stayed perfectly still. He would be lying if he asserted he stayed still solely on her behalf. He also needed a moment to regain his control. He asked her to let him know when he could move and in a short while, she said he could. He pulled back slightly and then thrust. She cried out and not in a way denoting pleasure. Again, he apologized. He tried again and found he could go no further; she tightened around him so much.

“Stop, please,” she begged after a few more tries. “It hurts.”

Ben pulled out with some difficulty and gathered her into his arms. She began to cry and he soothed her. “I’m sorry,” she cried against his chest. “I – it just hurt –“

“No, no,” he shook his head. “Don’t be sorry, I don’t want you to be hurt. I’m glad you said something.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Ben insisted vehemently. “ _Absolutely nothing_. You just need…” he didn’t know what she needed, truthfully. “You just deserve better. A legal wedding where your worries of propriety can be taken care of. You deserve a real bed for this, not the floor of a basement.” He paused. “Mary, I’ll see if there are any bits of advice I can find to make things easier on you. Soldiers talk – I won’t dishonor you by bedding another woman nor by telling anyone why I ask – but they talk and there are some I trust on this matter. I’ll find a way to make this good for you.”

“I can…do my own research too,” she ventured. “But I’m sorry that our –“

“Don’t apologize, please.” He kissed her and then retrieved some of their clothes. “Let’s just sleep.”

She gestured at his softening cock. “Don’t you…do you want me to –“

“No. I can’t take pleasure where you had none.”

“I had –“ 

“You said it hurt, at the end. So no, I’m fine.” They dressed and slid under the covers together. They were almost asleep in each other’s arms when Ben suddenly sat up and began wandering around the basement, looking for something.

“Ben?” Mary asked, bewildered.

“Here we are,” Ben returned to their makeshift bed with a ball of string and his knife. “Hold out your hand,” he asked. She did so and he wrapped some string around her ring finger, then cut the string. He tied a knot and slid the circlet onto her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

She held her hand up in front of her face so she could see it in the limited light.

“When I get paid, I’ll see about procuring a real ring –“

“I love this one,” Mary kissed him.


	19. Samuel Culper, Sr

Snug and warm in Ben’s arms, Mary woke with a tinge of regret. His gentle breathing tickled her neck. His chest was warm against her back, and she felt it rise and fall in time with the tickling puffs of air. Slowly, she rolled over to look at him. His eyes were closed, bruised from Simcoe’s punch. A few days’ worth of stubble covered his face and Mary tentatively ran her fingers over the small hairs. It tickled her skin in a wholly pleasant way, she could have gladly spent hours just feeling his beard against her skin. There was a bruise on his neck from the projectile she’d observed back in the city. As she reached the midway point between his chin and the bruise, Ben’s hand stopped her. Startled, Mary’s eyes flicked back to his, which were opening slowly.

He dropped her hand and cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her cheekbone as he kissed her ravenously.

“I have to make breakfast,” Mary protested sadly.

“It can wait,” he murmured, kissing his way to her ear.

“I promi-“ she broke off with a gasp as his mouth closed around her earlobe. “Ben,” she laughed nervously. “I promised I would take care of breakfast –“

With a sigh, Ben stopped and moved his arm away so she could get up and dress. “Anything you’d particularly like this morning?” Mary asked, picking out a dress from the trunk. Townsend had lovely taste, she noticed. The stitching was perfect and each dress was soft but durable. She selected the yellow dress, it looked happy.

“For you to stay in bed with me.”

“I was thinking along the lines of food,” she struggled with the laces on the back and Ben rose to assist with them. After finger combing her hair and tying it back, she went upstairs to find the kitchen. 

Once she found it, she began to rifle through the cupboards, tabulating what she could cook. She found things to make johnnycakes and then hunted for some bowls and spoons. Thankfully Robert walked in and she asked him. He opened one cupboard and took out a decent sized bowl for her.

“How did you sleep?” Robert asked politely.

Mary hid her face while she poured the ingredient into the bowl. She recalled Ben’s kisses and intimate touches. She recalled how _she_ had touched _him_.

Could Robert tell? Did he know what happened in the basement last night? Would he think less of her?

“Well,” she replied. “And you?”

“I did as well,” he retrieved a jar of preserves and left. He returned to gather plates, bowls, glasses, and silverware to set the table. She flipped the johnnycakes over and he came back to get ale and cider.

 She made several cakes and assembled other things before taking them out to the table where Mr. Townsend sat with Robert. They were speaking in low tones. As soon as they heard her steps, Mr. Townsend greeted her with a bright smile. Mary was reminded of Simcoe and how he had woken her. But Mr. Townsend was nothing like Simcoe. Whereas Simcoe seemed to derive his happiness from other’s misfortune or displeasure, Mr. Townsend appeared to be a chipper person at all hours of his life. “And how are you this lovely morning?” Mr. Townsend asked.

“Very well,” she set the food on the table. “I hope this is acceptable, I don’t know what you like to eat.”

Robert looked away and Mr. Townsend shot him a look. “It’s wonderful, I’m sure. However, if I might impose upon you to prepare some porridge? It’s all Robert will eat for breakfast and I have tried since he was a child to feed him other foods. I would have mentioned it last night, but…”

“Oh, no problem at all,” Mary assured him.

Robert glared at his father and when she walked away, she heard him hiss, “I could have easily gone without breakfast!”

When the porridge was ready, she brought it out to find Ben seated at the table, discussing time tables with Mr. Townsend. Robert flushed faintly when Mary set the porridge on the table. Wordlessly, he handed her his bowl. Mary scooped some into it and returned it. He mumbled his thanks. She served Ben and Mr. Townsed, then herself, and finally took a seat.

Ben glanced at her, eyes speaking the question ‘why aren’t you sitting next to me?’

She ignored it and began to eat.

“Mr. Culper’s very punctual,” Mr. Townsend told Ben.

“Why are they talking about you as if you’re not in the room?” Mary asked Robert.

“Oh, I’m –“ he turned to Ben. “Am I allowed to explain?” Ben nodded and Robert turned back to her. “I’m Culper Jr, they’re speaking of Culper Sr.”

“And he’ll be here today?”

“Should be,” Mr. Townsend replied. “Midafternoon, I imagine.”

 

* * *

 

Ben went down to the basement where Mary was placing the dresses Robert had bought into a haversack. Though she’d returned his kiss this morning, her behavior at breakfast caused him some concern. Would things be awkward between them? Would she prefer to avoid him? He needed to know, needed to straighten things out between them. 

The clothes were spread about as she tried various ways to fit them all inside the sack. “Trouble?” Ben asked. 

She sighed. “They’re all so lovely and they said they have no use for them – but I just cannot fit them all in here.”

“May I show you something I learned packing for the army?” She agreed and he rolled the garments instead of folding them. This time they fit and she admired his handiwork. “Mary…about last night…” She looked up at him, eyes wide, her body tense. “I meant every word.” She relaxed and told him she did too. “I…” he took her hands in his and then dropped one so he could touch her hair. He twirled a strand of it around his finger and remembered the note with the lock of hair. “Did…did you lose a lock of hair?”

Her hands moved to cover her head, face twisting, mortified. “Can you tell?”

Oh God. It really had been her hair. “There was a lock of hair in the note saying Arnold had you.” His voice was stilted with anger. 

“But can you tell? Is it obvious?” she kept touching her hair.

“No, you look beautiful.”

 

* * *

 

The arrival of a British soldier under flag of truce drew everyone’s attention. They followed him, some on foot, some on horse, others with carts, to the residence of William Floyd. Among the onlookers was Jeremiah Wadsworth, who sat on his horse.

 Mr. Floyd exited the house before the soldier even had a chance to dismount. Betsy held onto his hand and said, “That’s a redcoat! Why’s a redcoat here, papa?” Mr. Floyd told her to be patient and they walked down the steps to the man.

“That’s far enough, sir,” Mr. Floyd addressed the soldier. “My wife is ill and I do not wish your presence to upset her any further.” 

Nicoll and Kitty stepped onto the porch, Kitty’s hand fisted in the back of Nicholl’s waistcoat.

“Sir, I bring you a letter from General Clinton.”

Floyd stared at the man and then at the letter. Most would deem Floyd’s tenure in Congress as unremarkable. Certainly he had signed many important documents and provided important votes, but he had not distinguished himself such as many like John Adams, Edward Rutledge, John Jay, and others had (to say nothing of General Washington.) Why would General Clinton have reason to write to him?

The seal was official, though. He ripped it open and read. Betsy looked up at him expectantly, unable to see, much less read, what was on the paper. Nicoll left the relative safety of the porch, Kitty followed in his steps as she still clung to him. Wordlessly, Floyd handed the paper to his son. Kitty read over Nicoll’s shoulder, going paler by the word.

Floyd swallowed, pushed Betsy away from him, and then grabbed the soldier by the collar. “You take a message back to Clinton, you hear me?”

“Sir – I’m just –“

“Silence! You don’t speak! You listen! This goes against every protocol of war and every code of honor. You tell Clinton that when the war is done – you find my daughter now. You find her, your bring her home, and then you never step one hundred miles near my family! Not a single British officer shall touch my family! Now get out of this colony, sir! Good day!” Floyd released him and the soldier fell back against his horse.

“I’ll tell him you insulted a member of his majesty’s –“

“You tell Clinton or George III to haul their sorry arses here, I’ll do the same to them! Leave! Or I shall ask these good people to run you off!” the crowd cheered and Floyd walked back to the house. “Come here, Betsy,” he held his hand out to her, but Betsy ran for Kitty.

Inside the house, Floyd stopped his children and told them not to tell their mother of what had happened or what it said on the paper.

He went out back and Nicoll shadowed him. Floyd sat down on the bench in the garden and sighed. Nicoll sat next to him and held out the letter. “At least we know what happened to her.”

Floyd scoffed. “Did you read all of it? They don’t know where she is. They lost her. So again, we’re in the dark.”

Nicoll cleared his throat and then softly told his father, “I’ve never seen you so angry.”

Another reason never to let Hannah know what transpired. She too would be astonished at his anger. “Nicky,” he patted his son on the knee. “I need to take this to General Washington. This now concerns the army – if Clinton is willing to let his men break the rules of protocol thusly, then their families may be in danger. Besides, if we’re lucky, alerting the army to Polly’s predicament may result in her being found and brought home to us.”

Even though he agreed, Nicoll argued. “No, father, send me to Washington’s camp. Mother draws strength from your presence –“

“I appreciate your input, Nicky, but she is my daughter. This is my job. When you are a father yourself, you will understand.”

 

* * *

 

Waiting for Mr. Culper, Mary played draughts with Mr. Townsend. Her bag was at her feet, ready to go whenever Culper showed and ready to hide if soldiers arrived. Ben kept the gun at his side, much to Mr. Townsend’s displeasure. He would look over at it every now and then and frown ever so slightly. He thought no one noticed it but they all did.

Robert and Ben read from Mr. Townsend’s library. They had complimented the other on their choice of texts, as apparently they had both read them. For a while they talked of books and compared who had read what. Ben mentioned a text he wanted to read and Robert confessed to having ordered a copy, but it hadn’t arrived yet. There was an awkward exchange as they came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter – it wasn’t as if Robert could loan Ben the book. They joked about it being an option after the war. They soon settled into silence as they read, Robert with some work of Pope’s, Ben with some Chaucer.

After three games, two of which Mr. Townsend won, Mary tired of the game and asked for a tour of the house. Mr. Townsend eagerly obliged her and offered to take Ben on the tour. Ben declined politely, saying he’d reached one of his favorite sections, and so they left him to his reading.

On Mr. Townsend’s arm, Mary observed the quaint little home, which was fairly large, despite its only occupant being Mr. Townsend. He explained that at one point, the house had been teeming with people – friends would visit, servants lived in house, there was Robert, of course. The war had scared most of them away or forced them to keep to themselves.

They reached one room where Mr. Townsend hesitated. “This is Robert’s – I would show you, but I fear he would object.”

It was tempting to tell him that she’d already spent the night in Robert’s room in New York, but she declined. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on his privacy.”

“I must say, I believe he’s taken quite a shine to you. He doesn’t take to just anyone, you know? Good heavens, I used to have friends constantly chastising me about how unfriendly he was! He didn’t like to play with other kids, either.” Mr. Townsend grinned. “It’s part of the reason I’m so pleased he has Mr. Culper. The two of them…it’s almost as if Robert has a real friend.”

They returned to the sitting room and Mary almost suggested a game of cards, but then worried it wouldn’t sit well with the Quakers. Instead she selected a book of prayers and sat down to read. She didn’t have long to wait, they heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

Ben set down the book and reached for the gun. Mr. Townsed and Robert went to the windows and looked out as if they weren’t concerned it could be soldiers. Mr. Townsend relaxed almost immediately, opened the door, and started out to greet the rider. Ben nodded at Mary and she picked up her bag.

In a few minutes, a small man wearing a beanie entered the house. “So what is it? Jr. send you some trinket?” 

“No. Me.” Ben announced.

Culper Sr whirled around to face Ben. “Ben! The hell are you doin’ here?! You look like shite!”

“Language, sir,” Mr. Townsend chastised. “WE are in the presence of a lady.”

“Oh, Annie’s here –“ Culper Sr turned around and saw Mary. She smiled politely. “Well, you’re not Anna…so who’re you?”

“Mary Floyd,” Mary introduced herself.

Culper Sr looked around the room, as if he could find the answers on the men’s faces.

“Abe,” Ben clapped his friend on the shoulder. “It’s unorthodox, I’ll grant you –“

“Unorthodox? Jesus, Ben! Is she carrying your child? Do you have any idea what that’ll do to your father –“

“I am not with child!” Mary yelled as Ben protested that no, Mary was not pregnant.

“Look, Arnold and Simcoe set a trap for me – she was the bait –“

“Simcoe?”

“Captain Simcoe, yes.” Ben averted his gaze so he didn’t have to make eye contact with Abe.

“…did he give you those black eyes?” Ben nodded. “Good.” Mary gasped, Robert raised a brow, and Mr. Townsend gaped. “Serves you right. If you’d killed him like you were supposed to –“

 “All right! Yes, this is my fault,” Ben agreed. “But judgment is not what I need from you. I need you to get us to Caleb.”

Abe sighed and thought it over. “I only brought one horse and it’s a ways…” he trailed off and eyed Mary suspiciously.

Robert explained then that they would take one of their horses. Abe could return it at his earliest opportunity.

Abe took Ben aside and they had a quick conference in hushed tones. Satisfied with whatever conclusion they reached, Abe suggested they get going quickly.

Robert fetched the horse while Mr. Townsend said his farewells. Ben thanked him sincerely, to which Mr. Townsend thanked him for his service to God, America, for rescuing Mary –

“Actually, she rescued me,” Ben corrected. 

“Yes, she’s a remarkable young woman,” Mr. Townsend agreed. “I’d also like to thank you for including my son in your business. It has done him much good.”

Ben didn’t know how to respond to that.

Mr. Townsend hugged Mary goodbye. “Get home safely, my dear. And if you should be in this area after the war – or any time, do stop by. You will always be welcome in my house.”

Mary thanked him for his assistance.

Robert handed the reins to Ben and promised to be in touch. They shook hands and Robert came over to Mary. “Well, Mrs. Bolton,” he smirked. “It has been a privilege to serve as your valet.”

With a laugh, Mary hugged him. “Take care of yourself,” she instructed and then let go. “Don’t you dare get caught, you hear me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession: I have written Robert Townsend as autistic. His flat affect in the show, the real-life Townsend being reclusive, struggling with maintaining friendships and other relationships, his depression and insomnia, that he's well read and didn't go to college (he had an apprenticeship), and his attachment to his father (on the show) just kinda makes me think he's on the spectrum. (I am autistic, fyi). It's not stated directly in this story because they wouldn't have known. They would have just thought him eccentric.


	20. Setauket

All through the trip to Setauket, Ben could tell Abe wanted to ask a lot of questions. Every now and then, he would start to say something, then change subject in the middle of his own sentence. He got quieter and quieter as they approached the town. To avoid suspicion, Abe would go through town on the way to his house. Ben and Mary would go through the woods, avoiding the patrols. To do that, Abe provided details about where and when they were likely to be.

Having grown up in Setauket, Ben figured it wouldn’t be a problem at all. He knew these woods, he had played in them, gone hunting in them. If he needed to lose a few redcoats, he could do it.

The real problem was how much he had missed home and how that toyed with his mind. He hadn’t been home since rescuing his father. Did the trip to drop off the sympathetic stain and ship count? That had just been to Abe’s root cellar. Even before Simcoe’s actions summoned him, he hadn’t been home since graduating Yale. Seven years…and before that, the visits were sporadic, quick trips home that left him feeling more and more out of touch. When he’d visited home, he’d longed to return to his dorm, to the debates, to the mischief he had caused with Nathan and Enoch. With Caleb off in Greenland and Abe becoming more and more recalcitrant as he argued with his father, Ben found more excuses not to go home.

Had the paths always been this overgrown, this hidden?

God, could he get lost in his former backyard?

“Ben…could you ease up a bit?” Mary asked, tugging at his arm. “I think we’re safe.”

Unconsciously, he’d been tightening his hold on her. He loosened his grip and nudged the horse to the left slightly.

They were the first to the house, so they stayed in the woods within sight of the house and road. Ben wished he had his spyglass. 

“Do you miss it?”

“It?”

“Setauket. Not having to sneak around,” she shrugged. “Take your pick.”

Ben considered it. “I miss the simplicity. But it doesn’t matter, once you’ve had a taste of freedom, there’s no going back.”

A bird landed on the scarecrow in Abe’s field. It squawked, drawing their attention for a few seconds. Mary smoothed her skirt. “I don’t think Abe likes me.”

Ben snickered. “Abe’s a cantankerous shite,” Mary raised a brow at that and he shrugged. “No, he is. He’s…his father’s the magistrate and is a Tory. Abe’s always…well, they don’t agree on much. Then he lost his brother – the Liberty Pole riots – and…I don’t know. He,” Ben sighed and leaned back against a tree. “It’s difficult to explain. But it’s not you, he just has to be cautious.” Ben scanned their surroundings. “He recruited Robert, you know. I’m actually impressed now,” they shared a smile. “Of all the people to recruit…I rather wonder how that happened. Before it wasn’t much of a concern, but now that I’ve met the man,” Ben scoffed.

“Concern? You’re afraid of him?”

“Oh, no,” he dismissed that with a laugh. “I just wonder how it happened, that’s all.”

Mary laughed too. 

A cart could be heard in the distance and they turned to look. Ben squinted, as if that could replace his spyglass. “That’s Abe,” Mary observed, “but who’s that with him?” 

“Oh Jesus,” Ben groaned. “Abe, Abe, what are you doing?”

The cart came closer and closer and they could clearly see there was a woman seated next to Abe. “That’s his wife,” Ben explained. “I only met her once and – actually? I’m not sure that qualifies. I saw her. She saw me. I spoke to her, she didn’t speak to me. It was…tense.”

“Please tell me this wasn’t at their wedding.”

“No, goodness, no. I wasn’t here for that. It was when I rescued my father. It’s a long story. I don’t think I made a good impression.”

Mary sighed. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

They moved just out of sight and the cart pulled up to the little house. Mary was rather surprised that Abe was married, especially since the house did not look like it was built for much more than to meet basic needs. A married man who had lived in town all his life, especially a son of a magistrate, tended to have better homes. Or at least that was Mary’s experience. It did have a construction project in the works, maybe they were rebuilding or they had just bought the land. But Ben knew where to go, so it couldn’t be that new?

 “You can come out, it’s all right, she knows,” Abe spoke calmly. Ben and Mary exchanged looks, then emerged. Ben kept himself in front of Mary and his fingers were poised on the gun, just in case. “Ben, this is my wife, Mary. Mary, this is Benjamin Tallmadge.”

“We’ve met,” Mrs. Woodhull pressed her lips together.

“Mrs. Woodhull,” Ben inclined his head to her. “I regret that we met under such circumstances and meet again now under these…perhaps one day we will have the chance of a proper meeting.” He moved aside so Mary was visible. “This is Miss Mary Floyd.”

Both Marys smiled politely at the other.

Abe suggested that the two women go inside the house and he and Ben would go signal Caleb.

 

* * *

 

 

The two women began working on supper. Mary chopped vegetables and commented to Mrs. Woodhull, “It must be exhausting pretending to be a Tory all the time.”

Mrs. Woodhull stirred the contents of her mixing bowl. “I’m not pretending to be.” Mary dropped her knife and then picked it back up, suddenly wary. Mrs. Woodhull sighed, “Tory, Patriot, it makes no difference to me. I’m helping my husband because at the end of this war, that’s all that matters, my family.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Woodhull picked up some of the vegetables Mary had chopped up; she nodded at the rest, indicating Mary should continue. They worked for a bit and Mary wanted to ask again. Finally Mrs. Woodhull put down her spoon and spoke. “These patriots, what are they fighting for? Their statements of ‘no taxation without representation’ – at the end of the war, we’ll still have taxes, won’t we? To the colony or the king, what difference does it make? We’re women, we’re not represented but we still pay taxes if we lose our husbands. What other issues do they have with the king? Do any of their goals take us into consideration? Really, does it matter to you if you live under a king or…congress? Family is our sphere and it should be our primary concern.”

Mary sat down and considered what she’d said. Before now, it hadn’t occurred to her that anyone could _not_ care. Even her own mother cared, even though caring often made her heart hurt and require her to rest for a while. Her mother had always listened to her father’s politics and offered insight. Sometimes her father would read to her from whatever text he had. She had learned how to read from one of his law books, sounding out words while seated on his lap. How could one _not_ have an interest in politics?

 

* * *

 

After supper, Abe and Mrs. Woodhull escorted them to his root cellar. He advised them to be careful about the candlelight, but there were candles and he provided them with a lit one before going down.

They spoke while Mary stared at the dark, damp walls and shivered.

Time passed, but for Mary it was the time of days’ past.

“Mary?” Ben touched her shoulder and she whirled around, punch thrown and deflected before her senses came back to her. Ben held onto her arm, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in bewilderment. “What’s wrong?” 

“I – I don’t want to stay down here,” she whispered.

“I know,” he nodded, as if he really did understand which he _did not_! “It’s not the nicest, but it’s only for the night. Caleb should be here tomorrow and –“

“No. No.” She shook her head forcefully. “I don’t want to stay down here even for another minute,” her voice broke and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Tears threatened to fall. Ben pulled her to him and she buried her face against his chest. She shook with sobs that she forced herself not to let out.

“It’s all right,” he stroked her back. “I’m here, you’re safe. We can keep a candle lit –“

“Simcoe,” she managed to say before another sob wracked her.

She could feel him tense up against her. “He won’t find you, I promise.”

“Made me…spend the night…” Ben grew tenser and tenser, which did not help her spit out why she was so afraid. “In a cellar on our way to New York. I keep – I keep seeing that cellar.” 

“You’re not there,” gingerly, Ben pushed her back to arms’ length and stared into her eyes. “You’re here, in Setauket, with me. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. In fact…” he let go of her and walked over to a table where Abe and Ben had placed her bag and the gun. They must have done that when she was remembering her trip to New York, Mary guessed.

Ben picked up the gun and some of the ammunition. “Here,” he showed it to her. “I’m going to tell you how to use this. We can’t practice, but you’re going to know how it works.” He put the ammunition in his pocket and then turned the gun so it was on its side. “This, obviously, is the trigger. You pull this to shoot the ball.” He touched a little oddly shaped metal plate above the trigger. “This is the cock – some people call it a hammer, it doesn’t matter, though. Here,” he tapped a rather pointy piece near the cock but further up on the barrel. “This is the frizzen. So, trigger, cock, frizzen, show me where they are.”

Mary named each as she pointed to them. “Good, this horn contains the powder,” he showed it to her, “hold out your hand.” She did so and he poured some powder into her palm. “You want to measure about that much, not that you’ll be doing much loading. We don’t have the opportunity to practice, but we’ll discuss it anyway. Carefully dump that into the barrel,” he turned the gun so she could do just that. Since he’d advised caution, she was very nervous about getting every grain in the barrel but of course some didn’t go in. He didn’t seem bothered by the small amount that didn’t make it and instead showed her the ball, a little piece of cloth and grease, and pushed it down into the barrel. “Go on, push it down a bit.” She did and found there was a fair amount of resistance. “Difficult, yeah?” When she nodded he explained that the soldier likely hadn’t cleaned it. “Powder build up.”

“Don’t you…use a rod?” she’d seen the men load guns before; they usually had a long stick that they’d jam into the gun.

“Right, the ram rod, here,” he pulled it out and lined it up with the muzzle. “Give it a try.”

Remembering the resistance to the ball, she threw all her strength into trying to ram the rod down the muzzle. Her hand slipped and she cut the side of her hand on the frizzen. Without thinking, she touched her wounded hand to her mouth and then spat upon the cellar floor. “Oh that’s disgusting! What –“

Quickly, he placed the gun on the floor and took her hand. “You tasted the powder,” he observed with a small smile. “Here,” he let go of her hand to kneel down and take hold of her petticoat. Without asking permission, he tore it until he had a piece that would work to wrap her hand. “Sorry,” he apologized. She shrugged and let him tend to her wound.

Finished, he picked up the gun and rammed the ball down with the rod. Mary scoffed; he made it look so easy. “All right, ball is in, you want to cock it – so, like this,” he pushed the cock into position. “Add a little more powder to the frizzen pan, which is here,” he showed it to her and added some powder. “Close the frizzen,” he did so. “All that’s left it so aim and pull the trigger.”

Those were a lot of steps, Mary hoped she would remember them all and in the right order. He uncocked the gun and set it back on the table. “Like I said, we don’t have the opportunity to practice, but if you get the gun, aim for the chest. It’s the biggest target. And don’t worry about reloading, if you don’t hit them and they’re still coming for you, turn the gun around and hit them with the hilt. Trust me, sometimes that’s more effective.”

It all seemed like a long process for what boiled down to “point and pull the trigger.”

She expected he would quiz her but instead he went about setting up a bed. He went up the stairs to discover would be the safest spot and then set it up in the corner opposite the table close to the stairs. He smiled at her, “Last time I was here, I scared Anna by jumping out of this corner.”

Mary didn’t smile and Ben paused in spreading out the blankets. “Mary, come here.” She did so and he wrapped her in his arms. They sank down onto the bedding and he just held her for a while.

It was Mary who made the first move. She sat up and faced him. She felt oddly powerful being above him like that. Slowly, she reached out and traced his lips with her finger. He still had not shaved, so she smoothed her hand over his growing beard. His eyes darkened and she leaned down to kiss him.

He kissed her back, hard, one hand on the back of her neck, the other against the small of her back. He felt so warm and right. She began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat, suddenly irritated that he had so many stupid buttons! Sensing her impatience, he began to help her and then tossed it and his shirt aside. “Do you…want to try again?” he asked.

His question confused her for a few seconds. Did she? She wanted him but… “No, not right now. Is that…is that a problem?”

“No, no! It’s perfectly fine!” Ben assured her. “Um…if it’s the penetration that you don’t want…I recall hearing about something else we could try, if you’re willing.”

“What is it?”

 At this, Ben turned the prettiest shade of pink she’d ever seen. Part of her wanted to agree to whatever it was right then just for that reaction alone. “I’d…use my mouth.”

 “To do what?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times and then admitted, “I can’t think how to say it without it sounding…vulgar.”

Mary agreed to try it, on the condition that they could stop whenever. When she said that, Ben looked offended. “Of course we’ll stop whenever you’re uncomfortable.”

 “Or you,” there was no way she was the only one who got uncomfortable at times. She just could not believe that.

Ben kissed her again, kissed her throat and behind her ears. He tugged on her earlobes with his teeth. After kissing her thoroughly, he moved down between her legs. She imagined that “using [his] mouth” really just meant kissing her all over. And she was sort of right, but wrong in ways she couldn’t even imagine.

He pushed her skirts up and out of his way, then kissed the inside of her thighs. She liked it and pondered how he had been unable to think of a non-crass way to explain this.

Then his tongue touched her center and she understood.

Even though just thinking the words ‘he has his tongue on me’ made her flush and she could not think any more graphic than that, even as his tongue occasionally flicked inside of her.

She liked it a lot more than she ever wanted to admit, though. Within a few minutes, his actions had her writhing on the floor, her hands twisted in his hair, and she felt embarrassed by all the – admittedly hushed – sounds she made.

He continued and her stomach felt tight. It was unnervingly pleasant - like scratching an itch. And like scratching an itch, she felt like it was building up to something. And then she had it – it was like something snapped and Ben had to cover her mouth, she forgot to muffle her cries. She shook for a while, high on pleasure.

Finished, she watched him smooth down her skirts and then settle in behind her. He wiped his face with his hand and if not for the haze of contentment, she might have felt the need to apologize. Clearly his face was sticky from her. But he didn’t seem to mind and she discovered that she didn’t care in the slightest.

“Did you like that?” he asked, smoothing her hair away from her face.

Mary laughed. “Wasn’t that obvious?”

Ben chuckled. “Just wanted to make sure.”

Inspired, she sat up and reached for his breeches. Ben frowned. “Do you want me to use my mouth like you did?”

“You know it won’t be the same,” he reminded her teasingly. She nodded. He sobered up, “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” and she actually did.

Permission granted, Mary opened the front of his breeches and felt a flicker of nervousness. She actually did not know what she was doing and though she wanted to try, she wasn’t sure how to go about it. 

At first she just stroked him with her hand, then she leaned down to lick him from tip to base. It was a bit awkward, she had the unpleasant thought that if she did something wrong, he might poke her in the eye.

She found it was easier to work from base to tip and then she got the idea to take him into her mouth. He seemed thrilled by it, moaning as she did so. Reflexively, she swallowed around him and he cried out, his hips thrusting. The head of his cock hit the back of her throat and she gagged. He apologized as she pulled away to recover.

“I don’t seem to be doing this very well,” she lamented.

“No, you’re doing quite well,” he sounded out of breath.

“Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes, but if you don’t want to –“ he stopped speaking as she once again took him in her mouth. He let out a shaky breath.

Several experimental moments passed but Mary finally found a comfortable rhythm that he enjoyed as well. 

She sped up a little, feeling more confident, and after a few moments, he pushed her away, rolled over, and she watched him moan as white fluid splattered on the floor.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, grabbing his arm. “Ben, did I do something wrong?!”

His expression was one of contentment and he answered her, “No, that’s ...that’s what happens when I finish.” She let go of him and focused on the floor. She reached out to touch the fluid, curious, and he explained, “It’s my seed.” Mary yanked her hand back. “You can’t get pregnant just from touching it,” he assured her. “But I’ll clean up.” He did so and Mary debated about changing into her nightgown. It wouldn’t look proper if Abe or Mrs. Woodhull came down in the morning and found Mary in different clothes. She couldn’t just change in front of Ben without risking damage to her reputation. Ben on the other hand, refastened his breeches, but didn’t bother putting on his shirt or waistcoat.

Together, they settled under the covers. “Good night, Ben,” Mary kissed him quickly.

“Good night, Mrs. Tallmadge,” Ben smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I have zero firsthand experience with guns, all the knowledge/information found in this chapter about the gun comes from 1) youtube videos (just search for flintlock pistol and you should find a variety of enthusiasts sharing their experiences) and 2) an awesome diagram in "A Shining Time Volume III: The Dragoons, The Horse Soldiers, Part 1, 1776-1849" by Ted Spring.


	21. The Courier Arrives

_Morning, Simcoe said cheerfully, dropping a bucket of tar over her._

Mary woke with a start. “Hey, you’re all right, you’re safe, I’m here,” Ben whispered soothingly. He held her gently. Mary focused on slowing her breathing, on returning to a normal heart rate.

“Did you know Mrs. Woodhull isn’t a patriot?” Mary asked.

Ben was quiet, his thumb stroked her arm. “I can’t say I’m surprised,” he confessed. “But no, I didn’t know that.”

It was so dark without the candles. What time was it anyway? How soon before dawn?

“She says it doesn’t matter, that this war doesn’t concern women.”

“It does.”

Mary rolled over to look at him. “Does it? Does it really?”

“I…I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Well, she brought up the taxation without representation. But if a woman’s husband dies, she runs his business if he has no heirs or they’re too young. She pays taxes on the business, yes? But Congress has no women in it. Then there’s the judicial issue. Patriots want the colonies to be able to handle judicial concerns with more authority. But there are no women lawyers or judges. We can’t even go to school after a certain point. Will that change for us?”

Ben was silent. “I…well, it’s not the same –“

“Why isn’t it? Why are all men created equal, but women aren’t equal to men?”

Ben laughed. “Well, we’re different, so it’s not the same.”

 “Same doesn’t necessarily mean equal. Same means alike, identical. Equal means having the same value, or worth the same. Water from a lake is different from water from the sea, but it’s still water. Men and women are different, but aren’t we all human?”

“Yes, but it’s –“

“Not the same, I know. But why not? Why can’t we have –“

“The differences are greater than having salt or not –“ 

“One time when I was little, I accidentally threw a ball and hit Nicky between his legs. He cried for a long time and wouldn’t let me forget that incident for years. When my mother was pregnant with Betsy, I heard the other women talk about how childbirth is agony. Then my father became sick and even though he merely had a cough, the sniffles, and was tired, he complained all the time. Then my mother gave birth and I assisted her – later she just laughed and said it was worth it for Betsy.

“I’ve known girls smarter than boys, but the boys went off to college while the girls were kept from schooling. Tell me, where are women in this revolution? Because I know they’re on the frontlines – but will their sacrifices be solely for men’s advancement?” 

Ben rolled onto his back and sighed. “I can’t say. I’m only one person, Mary, and if we win, there’s more to the government than just one man –“

“You hold more power as one man than I ever have or likely will ever have as just one woman.”

He sighed, “What I mean is that more people will have to be convinced. But you have a greater chance with a the government we want than waiting for a king to agree with you.”

Mary accepted that. They were quiet for a while and then Ben whispered, “But I know you’re my equal.” Then, teasingly, “However, I’m not Washington’s equal, so neither are you.”

“Hey!” she objected with a giggle.

“You feel better?” he asked. “Safer?”

“Yes,” she nodded and rolled over to press her back to his chest. His arms came around her again and she closed her eyes to sleep.

“Not feeling like you want to change sides, right? You’re still a patriot?”

“I’m still a patriot.”

~~~~

* * *

 

Next they woke to the sound of horse hooves pounding against the earth. Mary thought she could feel their steps shake the walls of the cellar, but that might just have been Benjamin. He sprang from her side and crossed the distance to the table to grab the gun. Then he hurried up the steps. Mary pushed the covers away and started to join him but he told her to stay where she was. “They can’t see you from over there, I’ll join you if they start for us.”

Mary ignored his order and hurried up the steps. “What did I just say?” he hissed, grabbing her arm.

“I’m not one of your men, major,” she reminded him in a low voice. “And I’m your equal.”

“You’re a damned fool,” he snapped quietly, “if you think you can put yourself in harm’s way without a weapon and be called anyone’s equal, especially against regulars.”

That Mary could live with, so she went down to the table and hunted among the tools for something she could use. She found a pick of some sorts, its end sharp, and she returned to Ben’s side.

“ –mantic evening with Mary – my wife, my father can vouch for that,” Abe’s voice was full of fog, as if he’d just woken as well.

“We know you were friends with Tallmadge, we’d like to search your property in case he came here.”

“I think I would know,” Abe countered.

“He might have slipped in undetected.”

“Well, suit yourself, but I highly doubt that. See, he’s never been here, that is, last time he was here, it was just an empty field we played in as kids. He’s not been here in, oh ‘bout a decade? He’d have to come to the house, I would think, and he didn’t.”

“And what of your root cellar?”

No one spoke for a moment and Ben’s grip on the gun tightened.

“Hadn’t thought of that…why don’t you let me check? If it’s just me, no weapons, if he’s down there, he might be more likely to come without a fight.”

Ben nudged Mary and they hurried down the stairs. Ben grabbed her bag from the table and rolled it up with the bedding into the corner, out of sight. He stood in front of her, gun ready, as Abe descended the steps. “Tallmadge? Ben?”

Abe and Ben made eye contact. Whatever Ben saw in Abe’s eyes reassured him and his grip on the gun loosened. Abe wandered around the cellar for a bit, then went back up to the surface. “No one’s down there,” he told the regulars.

“Perhaps _we_ ought to check,” a soldier suggested. Ben’s hands tightened around the gun.

“I doubt you’d find Tallmadge here,” another man spoke. Ben stiffened in surprise. “I was always pleased that Abraham spent time with him, he was an extremely bright boy. Then his father encouraged the boy’s Whig beliefs…such a shame. He would have made a great lawyer. He’s too smart to return to Setauket. He knows he wouldn’t be able to hide.”

“Very well, then. Thank you, Mr. Woodhull. Sorry to wake your wife.” Hooves pounded the ground as they rode away.

“Ben?” Mary whispered. “Who was that?”

“Abe’s father,” Ben answered.

 

* * *

 

Caleb dug out his spyglass and studied the clouds. They were too uniform in shape and size to be clouds, he reasoned, and after a look through the glass, his suspicions were confirmed. Several British ships were sailing for New York City.

Caleb thought maybe it had to do with Ben. Maybe they got some information out of him – but no. Not Ben. Ben wouldn’t talk. Thinking of him like he was a dirty, no good squealer would be too much of an injustice. Well, for Ben, Caleb would grab Culper’s message and hightail it back to camp to let Washington know.

Washington still thought Ben was checking out a lead. Caleb hadn’t even told Anna about Ben’s letter or that he knew where Ben had gone.

If Culper’s message was that Ben had been executed, Caleb would go back to New York City and take down as many lobsters as he could. Damn Ben – he couldn’t be executed by the British. If anyone was going to kill that bastard, it was going to be Caleb himself. He had earned that right back before their voices deepened, back when losing teeth meant growing up and not ‘shit, who’d I get in a fight with this time?’

Damn you, Benjamin Tallmadge, you rotten, lousy –

Anna worried about Ben, asked Caleb every day if they should send someone to look for him. And every day Caleb lied, “Annie, he’s fine. Trust me, he said it could take a while, yeah?”

And every day, Louise and Mabel stopped by and would ask where Ben was. They were happy to play with Caleb, of course, but that didn’t mean they didn’t ask. Mrs. Milford was due any day now and how could Caleb and Anna give the baby the blanket they’d all put together without Ben? (Anna had done most of the work, admittedly, but under her supervision, they had sewn part of it. They’d also stitched their initials with what Anna called “the ugliest stitches” she’d ever seen.)

And Ben had duties, damn it! Who else did Washington have who could do what Ben did? Caleb was not equipped for this, he liked the fun that came with being the courier, but handling the ring? No thanks. Annie? She couldn’t officially. And sure, there was Hamilton – but ugh, Hamilton.

Hamilton had an opinion on everything, even an opinion about having opinions. He also had a hard time resisting the urge to share his opinions, could he really keep his mouth shut about the Culpers? Caleb didn’t think so.

Caleb soldiered on to Setauket and checked the dead drop. Inside the canister was a note simply saying “come to the house”. It wasn’t even coded!

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Caleb’s stomach turned and the world swayed beneath his feet.

Whatever news this was, Abe probably couldn’t risk putting it in the drop. It had to be in person, which meant either the British had a plan that virtually guaranteed wiping America off the map or Ben –

Caleb went to Abe’s home and checked that there was no one else around before chucking a stone at the house. He wanted to make a noise that would send Abe to investigate but be easily dismissed. So that meant no hitting windows or throwing anything too big. 

Soon enough, Abe stepped outside and Caleb made a bird call. Abe followed the sound and there the two spies stood. “Come on inside,” Abe invited and began to walk to the house.

“Is it Ben?” Caleb asked, his voice broke.

Abe faced Caleb, a frown on his face. The frown erased the worry, Abe didn’t have any news of Ben if he didn’t understand Caleb’s emotion. Before Abe could say anything, Caleb dismissed his comment and they went inside.

“Benjamin Tallmadge, son of a bitch!” Caleb exclaimed when he saw Ben sitting by the fire, reading. “You look like shite!”

“Hey, language,” Abe chastised.

“Sorry, Mrs. Woodhull,” Caleb apologized without looking. He hurried over to where Ben sat, hauled him out of the chair, and hugged him. “You _bastard_ ,” he whispered. “Do you have _any_ idea what you put us through?”

“Somehow I doubt it matches what I’ve been through,” Ben smiled fondly. “But you owe someone else an apology for your language.”

Caleb let go of Ben and got ready to kneel down to apologize to Abe’s kid. Instead he saw Mary watching him with amusement.

Ben’s explanation, tucked away in the letter for Washington, had not convinced Caleb that Miss Floyd actually was in any danger. He would have argued with Ben, asked for evidence, called Arnold a certified liar (because he _was_ and likely continued to be). And yet there she was, real as life. And how else would she have gotten to Setauket if not for Ben rescuing her?

Apologies and a quick catch up ensued as Ben and Mary prepared to leave. But when Ben said they were to go to Connecticut, Caleb had to stop him. “Can’t just yet,” and he explained about the ships he’d observed. “That should get to Washington. I could take Miss Floyd back and you could go to camp –“

“No, you saw them, you’d be able to answer his questions in greater detail. Besides, I’d rather tell Washington Mar- Miss Floyd’s safe after making sure of it myself.”

“Why? He ain’t aware of what you were up to –“

“Didn’t he get my letter?”

“I…might’ve…hid it.”

 

* * *

 

Hamilton knocked on the General’s door and stepped inside just after hearing Washington’s order to enter.

“Sir, Mr. William Floyd is here to see you.”

Washington placed his quill in his inkwell and rose to greet Mr. Floyd. The two had met at the first Continental Congress and had debated and served together. Floyd would easily admit to having admiration for the General. Unlike several of the delegates, Floyd could see a kindred spirit in Washington. Both held reservations, but tempered that with commitment to doing what was right and necessary.

“Mr. Floyd, a pleasure to see you again,” Washington shook his hand and gestured for him to come inside. He asked Hamilton to fetch them some drinks. “How can I be of service to Congress?”

“I’m not here on Congressional business, General, but rather personal.” He withdrew a piece of paper. “I rode as fast as possible because I wanted you to see this letter I received from General Clinton. My oldest daughter, Mary, was abducted by the British.” He held out the letter and Washington took it. “He explains the circumstances that led to her abduction – apologizing and calling it ‘unsanctioned’. Nevertheless, my daughter…” Floyd trailed off and let Washington read the letter for himself.

Washington sank down onto his chair and when Hamilton returned with cups of coffee, he ordered his aide to “see if Tallmadge has returned” and to “bring him here, if he has.”

 Hamilton set the coffee down on the table and hurried out to do just that.

 Finished with the letter, Washington placed it on the table in front of him and considered it. “And your daughter’s whereabouts is unknown…I offer you my deepest condolences, that must be….”

 “My wife is extremely ill from this,” Floyd admitted. “But if this could happen to my family, I cannot imagine that your family and your fellow officers’ families might escape this –“

 Washington stopped him. “I will write to General Clinton immediately. We will sort this out. And we shall find your daughter. I will have patrols put on alert. I’m afraid I cannot do much more than tell them if they come across her to bring her to camp. A search party is not something we have the resources for.”

 Though it wasn’t meant as a slight to Floyd himself, Floyd turned pink. “I do apologize for the state of what Congress can supply –“

 The door opened and Hamilton walked in with Mrs. Strong. Both Floyd and Washington rose in her presence and then Anna spoke. “Mr. Hamilton tells me you’re looking for Ben – for Major Tallmadge. He left several days ago and hasn’t returned.”

 Washington looked back at the letter on his desk and then at Mrs. Strong. “Tell me, Mrs. Strong…do you know if the major received a letter before his departure?”

 Mrs. Strong blinked. “Yes, your Excellency, he did…three in fact.”

 “And do you know from whom?”

Unfortunately, she did not. Washington then asked that she and Hamilton go through Tallmadge’s desk and things to look for the news he had received prior to his departure. While they were gone, he and Floyd spoke about Mary and about the concerns Washington should express to Clinton.

Hamilton and Mrs. Strong returned with four letters. One by one Hamilton handed them to him.

The first was from Wadsworth, a friend to both Tallmadge and Washington. Washington ignored it and then handed a letter to Floyd. That letter was signed ‘Catherine Floyd.’

“So he knew she was missing,” Floyd said to the room at large.

Washington opened the letter containing Mary’s signature and lock of hair. He swallowed before handing that to her father. Needing support, Floyd leaned against the table with one hand. He held Mary’s lock of hair to his chest with the other hand and cried out. “Oh my poor Polly!”

“There is no denying Tallmadge was aware of what had happened,” Washington growled. 

“Sir, you should read this one,” Hamilton handed him the last. “It’s from Tallmadge. We found it shoved at the back of his desk, like he’d tried to hide it.”

Eagerly, Washington opened it and read. He saw red and shook with rage as he read the words, the _instructions_. “The damned fool!” he snapped and Mrs. Strong recoiled in fear. Hamilton gently pushed her away and stepped between her and the general, providing a buffer. The general strode over to his door, yanked it open, and hollered at his aides to search all sources to see if the British had recently executed any Continental officer and to look through the lists of prisoners of war for Tallmadge’s name.

At his tone, the aides immediately abandoned their tasks to find the answer as soon as humanly possible.

Washington turned to Floyd and said, “Please remain in camp until I have received word from Clinton as to the issues we discussed and whether or not Major Tallmadge lives. Given Tallmadge’s reckless decision to rescue her, her absence is highly suspicious.”

At the description of his daughter’s rescue as ‘reckless’, Floyd bristled. However, he could see the General was not in a state to pick the right words and chose not to press.

Hamilton directed another aide to escort Floyd to temporary lodging while he assisted in the search for information. Mrs. Strong accompanied Floyd to his temporary lodgings and before parting told him, “I had the pleasure to meet Mary in Connecticut. I shall keep her in my prayers."

Floyd thanked her.


	22. Home

Elohim Scott snapped to attention when he heard the twig snap and he nudged his partner who quickly pulled on his boot and jumped up to ready. Charles had something in his boot that had broken open a blister. It was oozing and bloody, he could barely walk on it. Every time Elohim told him to go to the med tent and get it checked out, though, Charles insisted that in doing so, he’d just lose his foot, so he’d tough it out.

“Halt!” Elohim called.

“Relax, boys, it’s just us,” Lt. Brewster stepped into view. Behind him was Major Tallmadge and a girl.

Both Brewster and Tallmadge were well known among those who regularly pulled sentry duties. The first reason was that they were instructed to give them leeway on passwords as they often had missions that would take them out of camp and perhaps contact for days at a time.

Lt. Brewster stood out for many reasons. One was just his flamboyant personality, Elohim wasn’t quite sure what Setauket was like, and based upon the few Setauket natives he’d met, well…there was no way of picturing it. On one hand, there was Brewster – determined, reckless, brash, and loud. Then there was Anna Strong, quiet, focused, but a little bit of a rule breaker. And Major Tallmadge. Another reason Brewster stood out was his disregard for dress codes. He did not wear a uniform, opting instead for a hat with a wide brim and a leather jacket. It harkened to his whaler days. He also had a beard, which…astounded everyone. He’d shaved it a while back, but let it grow again. He looked like himself.

Major Tallmadge stood out for other reasons, mostly that you knew he was that kid who reminded you of chores you had. Not today. Today he stood out because he was _not_ wearing his complete uniform. His face was also rough, with a few days’ worth of growth, his hair seemed as though someone had roughly trimmed it. He had bruises on his face as well. What had happened to him?

The girl was the strangest addition to their group, though. Roughed up soldiers were common. Once you got used to Brewster, he became as normal as wounded soldiers; you still flinched but moved on with your day.

The girl was odd. For one, she didn’t look like the regular camp women who came without husbands. She was dressed practically, but with a bit of decoration on the dress. She seemed young, not a woman who’d grown up too fast, who’d had to earn a living for herself. She had an air of innocence about her that definitely did not belong in camp.

She also did not look like a woman who’d end up with Brewster.

And Major Tallmadge was so straight-laced – bringing a woman to camp??

 So who was she?

“Major Tallmadge? What happened to your coat?” Charles asked curiously.

“It’s ah…it was ruined.”

“You look as though you’ve been in a fight. I hope the other guy looks ten times worse.”

Was the major embarrassed? He looked askance and then admitted, “No, he completely won.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Elohim looked between them. “Is she your prisoner?”

“No, absolutely not!” Tallmadge shook his head. “We have information for Washington and she’s a witness. Don’t worry, she’ll be under my supervision.”

Elohim waved them on through and after they’d passed out of earshot, Charles sat down and snickered. About to ask what was so funny, Charles volunteered it. “Under his supervision – I dare say he’ll be under her supervision. In his tent. On his cot.” He yanked off his boot and checked his foot. “Or on her knees.”

“You need to get to a medic.”

 

* * *

 

_The Continental Camp_ , Mary couldn’t stop looking around as they walked. She was in the _Continental Camp_.

It was strangely exactly like and nothing like what she had imagined. Men in uniform worked on various tasks: chopping wood, doing drills, cleaning weapons, etc. They milled about and spoke to one another. Some looked serious, others laughed. The women hung laundry on lines, sat peeling vegetables or sewing. There were more women than Mary had anticipated. Most of them looked worn and tired, skin dark from exposure to the sun or dirt, Mary didn’t know which. Perhaps both. Their dresses were well worn and in some places, she could see patches on skirts. Children used sticks as swords, worked side by side the women, and Mary felt her mouth go dry when she tried to imagine Kitty and Betsy in camp. It didn’t work.

“Mary,” Ben held his arm out to her after she paused. “Come.”

These women, Mary knew, would be eyed with scorn if the rest of society saw them. By stepping into camp, she feared she had just earned a similar reputation. Swallowing, she looked up at Ben. “I…Benjamin…I _can’t be here_.”

“Of course you can.”

“They’ll think I’m your whore,” she whispered, thinking of the woman whose husband owned the cellar Simcoe had made her sleep in.

“No, they won’t, they’ll think you’re Washington’s guest,” Ben took her hand and placed it on his arm, then pulled her along.

She had agreed to go, to make this detour because Lt. Brewster had insisted his information could not wait.

They approached a building that seemed completely ordinary to Mary, but to Ben and Lt. Brewster, it must have meant something, for they opened the door and went inside.

There were tables set up and several men occupied each. They were equipped with quills, ink, and paper. Most were writing but some read and others sorted through papers. “I can never remember,” one officer spoke to the room at large. “Is gray spelled with an e or an a?” Part of the room shouted “A!” while others called out “E!” and a few laughingly retorted, “Who cares?”

One officer noticed them and hurried over. “Major Tallmadge! What a relief! His Excellency will –“ the man’s voice faded out of Mary’s hearing as she stepped further into the room. She let go of Ben’s arm and he watched her leave his side. Near the back, chatting with a few officers and gesticulating at a few papers was her father.

“Papa?” she asked.

The room went quiet and they all looked at her. Floyd stopped speaking and looked around for the source of the distraction. “Polly?” he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Papa!” Mary crossed the space between them in a matter of seconds, throwing her arms around him. He returned the embrace, cradled her head to his chest, and crooned her name against her hair.

He smelled exactly like her papa always did, a scent Mary always associated with safety. She could smell tobacco, the lavender and rosemary from the sachets they made to keep his clothes fresh. There was ink and paper, though she didn’t know how they were able to infuse him with their scent. It wasn’t like they were particularly odorous or designed to leave a smell. There was powder from his hair and soap. He smelled clean, nothing like York City or the cellars or Lt. Brewster. Not even Ben smelled this clean, though she didn’t mind his sweat.

“Oh my dear, dear Polly,” her father leaned away and cupped her face in his hands. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” 

“I’m fine,” she whispered, her throat thick, her nose suddenly runny, and her eyes watering. “I missed you so much!” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at her eyes like she was Betsy’s age and he didn’t trust her to wipe off all of it.

“And we missed you,” he kissed her forehead and then pulled her to his side, to face the rest of the room.

Ben and Lt. Brewster stood nearby. Lt. Brewster grinned. Ben looked slightly worried, but happy. “Sir,” Ben bowed slightly. “I’m Major Benjamin Tallmadge –“

“I am aware of who you are, sir,” Floyd tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Am I correct in presuming you are responsible for returning my daughter to me?”

Ben shifted and looked at Lt. Brewster. “To a degree, sir. Mary – Miss Floyd was incredibly brave and resourceful. She had a great deal of influence in her escape. I would have escorted her directly to Connecticut, sir, but Lt. Brewster happened upon information we needed to get to camp immediately.”

“And I should like to hear it immediately,” the whole room jumped to their feet. “But first,” General Washington crossed over to Mary and held out his hand for hers.

Star struck, Mary remained immobile.

“Sir, this is Miss Mary Floyd.” Ben introduced her at the same time her father said, “General, allow me to introduce my daughter, Mary Floyd.”

There was an awkward silence and Mary recovered to accept Washington’s hand. “It is an honor, your Excellency,” she curtsied and he raised her hand to his lips. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I do assure you, miss, that all of it is exaggerated to some degree.”

“Oh! No! No, not at all!” It occurred to her that he probably meant the grumblings of Congress and she wished the ground would swallow her. “That is – I’m sure the – I only believe – “

A few officers chuckled.

“My dear, it would be my honor if you would dine with us tonight. But in the mean time, I need to speak with Major Tallmadge and Lt. Brewster.” 

“Of course,” Mary dropped her hand and her father escorted her from the building, talking about how exhausted she must be.

 

* * *

 

Information delivered, Washington excused Caleb. Ben made to leave as well, but Washington called him back. “You were not dismissed, Major.”

Ben returned to attention and waited. Washington opened the drawer of his desk and removed a bundle of papers tied with string. “Do you recall how I once told you that it was not my job to teach you better sense?” Ben nodded. Washington slammed the papers down onto the desk. “And you were to have learned from that!” Ben jumped, reminded of when the general had shouted at Charles Lee.

“Sir, I…I don’t follow.”

“You should have brought Arnold’s letter to me immediately! What were you thinking, off to York City by yourself? Did you consider the blow to America were you killed?”

“Sir, I left a note ex-“

“Ah, yes, your note,” the scathing tone made Ben feel five years old again. “Instructing me to place Brewster and Strong at the head of the ring. Have you taken leave of your senses? Lt. Brewster is incapable of the fine decision making necessary to run an intelligence operation. He is brash and bold, which makes him suited as courier but not as head! And Mrs. Strong? Do you not recall what ejected her from Setauket? Do you not recognize that she is a woman? You are the only one capable of this responsibility but you allowed your lust to rule you!”

“No, sir! I did not –“

“You did! And by doing so, you put this army in jeopardy! You put America in harm’s way!”

“And what was I to do?” Ben knew he was out of line, but he couldn’t help himself. “Let Arnold keep her in his clutches? That man betrayed you! He dined with us at breakfast all the while plotting against us! He could have hurt her –“

“One woman is worth the cause.”

That sent Ben reeling. He fell back into a chair and then got to his feet quickly. “Would you be so quick to say that were it your wife, sir?”

“She is not your wife –“ 

“Would you say that were it Mrs. Washington?” Ben repeated furiously.

“She is not your wife unless there is something you wish to tell Mr. Floyd. There are protocols to war, Tallmadge. If you had brought this to me immediately, as you should have done, I would have contacted General Clinton, and Miss Floyd would have been returned to her family within days.” Ben opened his mouth to retort that he didn’t trust Arnold to follow protocol, but Washington dismissed him. “And you are not to attend the dinner tonight. You will not escort her home, either. You are needed _here_.”

 

* * *

 

Disgusted, angry, and ready to change into a clean uniform, Ben stormed to his tent. He lifted the flap and found the interior cleaner than he remembered leaving it. His cot looked as though the sheets had been washed and then the bed remade. The papers on his desk were straightened. He checked the pitcher and bowl and found both empty and dry. The pitcher had been half full when he’d left.

Ben opened his dresser and took out new clothes. Midway through buttoning up his waistcoat, the flap opened and two little girls launched themselves at him, screaming, “UNCLE TALLMADGE!”

Mabel squeezed him with all her might and Louise babbled about how much they’d missed him, that the baby had been born and she was loud, stinky, but adorable. “All right, ladies,” Anna laughed as she too entered his tent. “Let the major finish dressing.” They let go of him and Ben swiftly finished buttoning and threw on his coat. “Ben,” Anna hugged him. When they parted, she shoved him gently. “Never do that to us again!”

“I won’t,” he promised, his anger abating.

“Come,” she took his hand. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

Outside his tent, Caleb and Mrs. Milford sat. Caleb was making faces at the baby Mrs. Milford held and occasionally he’d say some gibberish. “Look, Tallboy!” Caleb called out when the girls hurried out of the tent.

Mrs. Milford rose and carefully avoided tripping over her excited daughters. “Georgiana, say hello to Major Tallmadge. Major Tallmadge, this is Georgiana.”

Speechless, Ben accepted the baby into his arms and looked down at the sleeping infant. “Born two days ago,” Anna informed him.

 

* * *

 

While Mary and her father dined with Washington and his staff, Ben retrieved the knife he had loaned to Mary the first time they met from his things. Carefully, he wrapped it in one of his cravats. It was his goal to disguise what it was, so that no one would raise objections to giving her a weapon. He also didn’t want Caleb – whom he had asked to travel with Mary and Mr. Floyd since Washington had forbidden him from going himself – to see that it was the knife Caleb had given him.

Knife wrapped, Ben sat at his desk and composed a letter. In it, he apologized for not being able to escort her home. He repeated that he loved her, that he did intend to marry her legally when the war was over. The knife, he explained, was to keep her safe while he was away.

_I will see you, my love, when the war ends or in winter, whichever comes first._

 

* * *

 

General Washington escorted her and her father to the carriage that was on loan to them from the army. Since her father was a member of Congress and her safety had been called into question, Washington reasoned they should have access to a carriage and to an escort. Lt. Brewster winked at her as he took his place in the escort.

A quick glance around did not reveal Ben. Her father chatted with the officer in charge of their escort and then asked Mary if she was ready to leave.

“Where’s Major Tallmadge?” Mary asked General Washington. The General pressed his lips together and appeared to prepare himself to disappoint her, but Ben called out, “Miss Floyd!”

Mary whirled around to see him approach, handsome and impressive in his uniform. The bruises on his face had faded some and he was clean-shaven. She wanted to run to him, to hug him, as she had not seen him since being reunited with her father. His approach was casual, not swift as if he were late to their departure. He carried no bag with him.

“Major Tallmadge, I feared you would not make it.” Mary did not notice Washington’s pointed look.

“I’m afraid, Miss Floyd, I will not be able to accompany you to Connecticut. Duty requires me to remain here, but as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Lt. Brewster will be with you. I can promise you have nothing to fear.”

Her jaw dropped. “You –“ she stepped closer to him, fingering the string ring around her finger. “Have…have I done something wrong?”

“No,” he assured her, the one word so full of truth it confused her. If he was not displeased with her, what kept him?

“Then what –“

“The General requires me here, I’m sorry. Lt. Brewster has a package for you from me,” he lowered his voice so only she heard the last part.

“Mary, we should be getting on our way,” Mr. Floyd interrupted. 

Ben helped Mary into the carriage and her father joined her. Mary leaned out the window to speak to Ben. “Write to me?”

“I promise.”

 

* * *

 

The carriage pulled up in front of their Connecticut residence. Nicky, Kitty, and Betsy stood on the porch, curious as to who had earned the escort. When Mr. Floyd helped Mary out of the carriage, Kitty let out a cry and Betsy shrieked, “POLLY!” The two girls hurried down the steps and ran to embrace their sister while Nicky shouted into the house, “IT’S POLLY! POLLY’S HOME!” Then he too joined his sisters on the lawn.

Mary didn’t even have a chance to say hello before they all embraced her. Betsy jabbered on and on about…well, who knew? Kitty yelled about how much she’d missed her and how annoying it had been for Mary to get out of chores. Nicky insisted that he knew she was just fine all along, ‘you are perfectly all right, aren’t you, Pol?’

“Move aside,” Mrs. Floyd directed her children. Nicky and Kitty obeyed, but Betsy still clung to Mary’s side. “Oh, Mary,” Mrs. Floyd enveloped her eldest daughter. She kissed Mary several times and then chastised, “ _Never_ do that to me again!” Not even letting Mary respond, Mrs. Floyd hugged her again, kissed the top of her head, and escorted her into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to every one who read, left kudos and/or commented. You have no idea how much I appreciate it!! <3
> 
> And I don't think this is the last you'll see of Mary and Ben from me. I've got the paperwork all filled out for research requests related to them (books I want, letters/documents I'd like to see) and finishing this was really hard. It took me a long time to figure out where/how to end this. We'll see where Season 4 takes us as well :D 
> 
> Thank you all!


End file.
